We Are Not God's Children

There is elegance in a star.
Spherical.
Bright.
Burning.
Stellar.

There is beauty in a particle.
Spherical.
Indivisible.
Strange.
Charming.

The spattering of stars is paint on a canvas,
But the canvas is so large,
That it might be a solid color.
The cycle of the universe is birth and death,
But the second hand never ticks.
Uniform.
Eternal.
Perfect.

Yet in our eyes the world is messy.
We eat with the same
hole that we breath with.
We eat what we are made of,
And spend most of our lives
Learning what is already known.
Life is a mess.
We are a mess.
We are cruel, cowardly, craving, and corrupt.
We indulge ourselves, but it never feels like a reward.
We fear what we can’t control and surrender what we can.
We want to live forever but are too embarrased to actually try.
We look on the bright side and are therefore blindsided by the dark side.
We will do anything to fix our minds, so long as we never have to look at them.
We blame each other for things no creatures as stupid as us could be responsible for.
We are vile, vicious, and venal.
We think of ourselves as magnificent, like the universe,
Yet all of the worst words in all of our languages apply exclusively to humans.

I do not think some perfect God created the universe,
But if that is so,
We are not God’s children.
Perhaps we are the monkeys that will one day evolve into God’s children,
But we are not God’s children.
In fact, God is our child.
Another purposeless creation
By a purposeless creature.