The Greatest Mystery Poem by Richard Randolph

The Greatest Mystery

Life is the greatest mystery of all,
a strange, magnificent blessing
that came from no one knows where,
and no one knows how.
Like many unexpected gifts,
often we don't know what to do with it,
or what purpose it has - we have.
And it can be difficult, often painfully so,
but even the most despicable wretch,
even an irksome fly,
is more magnificent than any diamond
or work of human hands.
By comparison, the pyramids are nothing,
the universe a vast emptiness.
And it follows that every death,
no matter how small, is a tragedy.
We all know it, or sense it in our hearts.
It's why we shudder when we
come across something dead.
It's why we hesitate before we kill a fly,
or eat a piece of meat.
It's not, as we fear, because we're soft,
but rather because we intuit
that something truly miraculous
has come to an inglorious end.
And there's nothing we, or anyone,
can do to stop it from happening
again, and again, and again.