chance

Does finding music in heartbeats
while your head rests
on their chest — count as art?
Do the ephemeral beams of sun
passing through mazes
of branches and leaves forming
intricate patterns — call for an artist?
or is it chance?

Are we just too scared
of being on our own?

Are we too naïve
to find solace in the fact that given enough time
even Nothingness comes to life,
It begins to wonder. It learns to smile.

Do we
really need a God?

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