The Epitome of Life?

 The universe prefers drifting

Towards chaos in perpetuity;

And life is but a hollow rebellion

Against such an opportunity.

It is a messy stew of perseverance,

With flavours of change and improbability.

It is the staving off of entropy,

In an always-changing shape;

Self-sustaining complexity,

In a conscious, orderly step.

Some say the epitome of life lies in love,

Others in the dance betwixt suffering and joy;

But is the impermanence of either what gives meaning,

Or could this be death’s narcissistic ploy?

Could the epitome of life be consciousness -

Our ability to reflect on existence - 

Or could it be its refusal to be confined,

And to be summed up and defined?

Be it consciousness, or drift, or love,

What good is it for me to know,

If the epitome I declare today

Is, per sure chance, outdated tomorrow?

I think the epitome of life is the love,

To consciously drift towards chaos;

Even when confronted with impermanence,

And the inevitability of loss.