In an age of times unrecorded, unthinkably remote and arcane,
A conclave of gods indescribable, adrift in a cosmic domain.
Non-physical, non-temporal, in eternal ennui they mire,
Godlike yet flawed, akin to celestial middle management’s choir.
In a realm devoid of matter, where existence was but a jest,
They’d languish, ponder, dally, forever trapped in this celestial quest.
Yet amidst the silence of the cosmos, where no sound dared to creep,
Stirred a god of senior standing, rousing his brethren from endless sleep.
“Wake,” he bade, “from your lethargy, let us conquer this celestial blight,
In place of the nothingness that pervades here, let us see if we can create light!
Why not birth a universe, vast and grand, by helping the elements transmute,
To dispel our ennui, our cosmic fatigue and to this cosmological boredom dilute.”
And, thus, in that great heavenly boardroom sprang ideas unending,
Each god’s vision of a universe, their cosmic PowerPoint contending.
A cacophony of celestial voices, each pitch perfect, each word astute,
Their egos, however, unwilling to consider a different route.
And, so, in the fashion of executive wisdom, the eldest god invoked,
The delegation of responsibilities, amongst the divine, bespoke.
A harmony, he hoped, might be achieved in this grand cosmic scheme,
In the diversity of thought, he sought, lay the essence of the dream.
Yet chaos ensued, a divine mess unraveled, a universe in disarray,
For each god’s slice of creation was another’s total dismay.
Intersecting realms, dimensions colliding, the perfect universe a mirage,
An accidental game of multidimensional Jenga, the gods’ cosmic collage.
Tensions flared, alliances frayed, two factions emerged from the fray,
Their grand cosmic visions in stark conflict, their harmony kept at bay.
A war ignited, of magnitude unmatched, in Troy, Mordor, or Tatooine,
A conflict so vast, yet utterly void, an absurd celestial routine.
From one faction, a grand strategy, a superweapon’s demonstration,
An idea born, perhaps, from a Star Wars marathon, to lead to complete elimination.
Yet, in their haste, a miscalculation was made, and in their folly, the universe bade,
Not a weapon of destruction, but of creation, the foundation of all things laid.
From the aftermath of that grand explosion, a cosmos emerged forthwith,
The heavenly squabbles and celestial beings reduced to nothing more than myth.
Yet, the eldest god, wise and foreseeing, had embedded a universal law,
A grand unified theory, in the fabric of creation, hidden in the cosmic maw.
From the celestial ineptitude’s detritus, a universe began to form,
Guided by physics fundamental, a cosmos beautifully norm.
We humans emerged, alone, product of a cosmic blunder,
No divine intervention, no heavenly decree, just a universe to wander.
In a twist of cosmic irony, we find resonance with old religious creeds,
Gods once existed, a universe designed, yet no divine decree impedes.
We’re alone, with no scriptures, no prophets, no underworlds to befall,
The universe, our playground, the answer to our soul’s call.
Religions claiming monopoly on truth peddle expired cosmic lore,
The real story, a hilarious irony, of creation’s unexpected uproar.
A cosmic comedy, a divine error, led to our birth, our place,
Merging science and creation, in a tale of cosmic grace.
Thus, dear friend of a friend, the mother of all explanations be told,
The grand cosmic satire, a testament to divine miscalculations of old.
We are not divine purpose’s children, but a cosmic comedy’s punchline,
In the vast expanse of the universe, we, alone, are the divine.
For our destiny, our morality, rests solely upon ourselves,
Survivors of a cosmic blunder, in our hands the universe delves.
Let us raise a toast to our cosmic lineage, our universal lease,
Here’s to us, children of chaos, in the grand cosmic masterpiece.
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Photo by Benjamin Davies on Unsplash.
