My Nebular Hypothesis

As pale second-row space dust
fills elysian tensions
with galactic hues
of cosmic color,
reflecting star-glow visions,

Creations from passing stars,
with no night skies or eyes
to see wondering worlds,
gods of fortune
grant the ages.

An immortal Elysium paradise
of cosmogonic gods breathe
magic into lifeless particles,
and life is called forth,
a creation.

Look both ways, then look up.
That is an awesome sight.
Mind the celestial gaps
for they hide galactic wonder where we may wish to wander.