To Survive

The odds of existing are 10 to the 2,685,000th power to one.

Yet I am breathing.

I can feel the wind on my face

And the grass between my toes.

The morning dew tickles my skin.

A trillion blades of grass,

but only a handful touch my feet.

I can see the stars in the sky at night.

I can catch snowflakes on my tongue.

I can hear the spring peepers as the ground thaws.

I can breathe.

We're all breathing on a rock

Hurdling through outer space

Spinning on it's axis at 1,000 miles per hour

To one day be swallowed up by a black hole,

But I'm not dizzy.

Not existing is a guarantee.

Living is rare.