Life

Life’s a game,
A child’s toy,
Pieces pushed,
Around the board.
If God’s a caring,
Omniscient deity,
Why does everything,
Seem so random?

It makes more sense,
If he’s a child,
Playing with,
His little ant farm.
Poke the bugs,
Watch them wiggle,
Writhing, running,
Oh what fun!

Oops, snake eyes.
Do not pass go,
Do not collect,
Two hundred dollars.
Just little ants,
Burning,
Under a magnifying glass,
In the sun.

Or maybe,
God’s not there at all.
Maybe,
Life’s just cogs and wheels.
If you die,
Who really cares?
Does it really matter,
If you get that raise?

It could be,
That blind indifference,
Rules the scene,
Chance and luck.
Let’s roll the dice.
Eighty percent,
Probability,
That drunk driver,
Will kill your family.

I’d rather believe it,
To be chance,
Than a carefully,
Thought out,
Purposeful,
Plan.
I’d rather it be,
Cogs and gears,
Apathetic,
Caring less.

In fact,
Not thinking at all.
Not even alive.
Pure instinct,
Pure science.
Then the goal,
Of life,
Is to live,
And nothing more.