Poetry in Motion...Sort Of

It is a fact well accepted by me that my prose is better than my poetry. But once in a blue moon, I come up with something that has to be addressed poetically. So here goes nothing:

It was an explosion.
Nay, it was an expansion.
It was the birth,
In which was also written death.

It was the start of a story still in writing.
A story which could just as easily not have existed.
A species would later on term this "contingency",
A species, a member of which writes this today.

To witness it would have been agony.
To witness it would be a feat.
To witness it one would have to transcend reality.
To witness it is to witness everything.

Everything was brought into existence by it.
Everything which could easily not exist today.
Everything then is everything now.
And everything everywhere is a function of how.

Every sunrise, every sunset.
Every star to ever adorn the night sky.
Every galaxy to be a home to some wonder in this expanse.
Every species to ever marvel at the beauty around her.

It is a glass bowl waiting to shatter.
It is a glass bowl which could have shattered.
It is a glass bowl which will shatter.
It is a cosmic house of cards; one false step collapses it all.

All was written in it.
All was born with it.
All will die with it.
All is fundamentally bound to it.

Well, I can see why I don't wax poetic often.