Life fights itself; I don't know why.
Collectively, life is ruthless,
Unstoppable and immortal,
Hurling countless forms at the world
And each other, a tournament
Lives are not the ends but the means
To no end but continuing.
"All nature is at war," opened
Darwin and Wallace's gambit,
But war's a narrow metaphor,
However apt, to carry through.
Life is matter motivated
To motivate matters further
By thwarting the motivations
Of more matter to do the same.
Life is hungry; I don't know why.
All life consumes, churns, and excretes,
And this must somehow be decreed
By physical laws that won't let
Matter enjoy being unless
In competition for that joy.
Life is fierce, frail, and strange--to me,
To living things. I don't know why.