Ode to Prometheus

These fingers type words seeking answers to questions no one knows. Where did we come from? Who created us? Where are we going? Is it worth knowing? One word at a time, these lines come.

We will seek until the end because we feel the emptiness of being left behind. A species floating alone among billions of stars. The most intelligent known thus far.

If we were to stand in front of our maker and ask him why. Why did he choose to make us in his image despite the flaws we all realize? Why did he not upgrade our DNA to fight disease? Why did he not breed out our greed before we were let loose and freed?

Why did he make such a weak invention? Not able to withstand extreme heat or cold. Not able to breathe under water on a planet of blue. Not able to live long without water or food.

Would I approve of the answer when told, or would I ask for more like the spoiled children that I know and grow?

Why did the gods forsake us?  Because we quit believing they were gods.