Pin Worms

I'm told the universe is 14 billion years old. Expanding at the speed of light. If we're lucky...or unlucky We'll live to be a hundred years or so. Just a flash of time to dance our dance. Sing our song -scribble a rhyme. Be garnish or spit to our beloved star time. Who is this grand being or thing that made everything? A loving God or sadistic magician? Did living just seed from the soil of nothingness. Are we singled out, each one of us, to be part of the script? To add to or take away from the collage of living and dying. What's in the next life, a giant reflection of this one. Magnified by infinity under the lenses of an /absolute / To be baked forever into the echoes of our lies and truths. Until the universe shrinks onto the head of a pin. Then what!