The Urge to Propagate

The stars have names and ages we assign,

But deep inside, they follow one design:

When gravity grows heavy, tense, and deep,

A supernova breaks the cosmic sleep.

It bursts, not out of malice or of spite,

But scatters seeds of darkness into light.

Across the void, where silent wonders pass,

It propagates the race of heavy mass.

Then turn the gaze to things too small to mind,

The tiny creature that all fears resigned:

The tardigrade, enduring fire and frost,

The map of self that never shall be lost.

It shrinks the frame, it waits in crystalline trust,

A silent promise to return from dust.

Though decades turn and empires fade away,

It holds the blueprint for a future day.

It knows the vessel fails, the form is frail,

But the essential message must not fail.

The plant, rooted deep where darkness lies,

Sends fragrant signals to the summer skies.

Through wind and insect, pollen drifts afar,

Extending life beyond its resting scar.

The silent root goes searching, deep and long,

For water and the strength to stand up strong.

It seeks resources, patient and profound,

To hold its sacred foothold in the ground.

And watch the huntress, built of muscle, fierce,

Whose watchful spirit danger cannot pierce.

The mother mammal, with a fearsome grace,

Defends the young, the future of her race.

This fierce devotion, blood and bone and nerve,

A primal drive, the genetic code to serve.

The individual body is the cost,

That immortal lineage not be lost.

She gives her strength, her fury, and her breath,

To buy the genes another chance at death.

Yet we, the beings blessed with conscious sight,

Can choose a warmth beyond the cold starlight.

The human heart, with empathy profound,

Loves those to whom no kindred link is found.

This abstract choice, this passion we impart,

Is the true victory of the mortal heart.

It breaks the rule of selfish, blind utility,

And grants the failing vessel true nobility.

The central truth that binds the field and star,

From where we end to where we think we are:

This eternal battle, fought with zeal and grace,

Between cold Entropy and The Urge to Propagate the Race.

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