Luck

The electrons rush down their path, 
Reacting to my finger pressure on buttons. 
It's all by chance. 

I hit the gas pedal and lurching 
Forward, the trees rush past the moving wind. 
It's all by chance. 

Infra-red waves open the portal 
To news, the world and its fun on my TV screen, 
It's all by chance. 

The blender spins to chop, 
Perfectly sharpened and balanced to act, 
It's all by chance. 

Oh... you don't think so? 
You think we should credit some human
For this genius and the art? 

Yet...

The Earth floats between death and sun, 
In a solar system set just right in the milky way, 
But it's all by chance. 

Celestial bodies pummel everything, 
Sparing Earth despite their random deadly craze
But it's all by chance. 

Solar flares cast deadly rays, 
But the ozone is just there so you tan just right, 
But it's all by chance. 

Our brains can think about thinking 
About another person thinking about thinking, 
But it's all by chance. 

Yes, 

You want me to believe that in history, 
One day a cat gave birth to a beast not a cat
And another cat gave birth to that same species
And they met, and happily started a new line of 
Not cats... just by chance. 

Like at some point a unicell 
Moved out to become multicellular
And made you, randomly, by picking the luck 
From the safe possible DNA/RNA recombinations: 
1 to quadrillion cells in less than a trillion years, 
Just by chance. 

That out of millions of possibilities, 
You made it to the egg, just by chance. 
That you're just a fluke
The result of mere luck
A glitch in the machine. 

(c) nyonglema


After Trump

What if Trump lost, and Facebook, Twitter, Alphabet, Hollywood and the media won: 

The people are stunned, hanging on a breath
To see the fallen giant hiding in shame. 
Fear, confusion fills the senate, as death
Lingers on the faces of hate untamed. 
Iron on their toga flows down their arms, 
Down to the iron in their fateful hands
Hanging on the final breath of the land's
Greatest leader, hanging frustrated and calm. 

Sullen the face of Brutus the conspirator, 
With shadows emerging from his wrinkles
To ask questions: heroes or vain traitors? 
Wrong or right? In barely a star's twinkle
The future was set, and in this dead calm
With J's blood still fresh on his hair strands
Clinging to what was life, what was grand
Brutus ponders what good was done, or what harm. 

At Pompeii's feet, sprawled is the victor, 
Ironically repenting for his actions past.
And the people, confused and totally unsure
How to continue the game with the dice he cast
Seek a new leader with such venom, yet much charm, 
Fighting for them like he had a magic wand. 
CNN will finally never need to recant. 
He put the future back in the people's hands. 

(c) nyonglema