Has anyone seen my axiom?

The problem is, when you don’t write
With your own voice,
We creatures,
Piping the vast cosmos,
'It',
Without need of identity, fragmented here,
Each shard in need of a face,
And now fearing its vastness,
Is lost, or so we assume.

But we're lost nonetheless,
Filled with silly questions and flaky
Answers.

Ha!

The chance of life…
It’s so freakish, we suppose,
There shouldn’t be a chance of life at all.
But there’s so much space out there,
For lottery winners, that it’s not all that surprising
That something as unexpected
As a question
Is,
At all.

And 'us', wearing costumes and such,
Wailing about finding a voice of unique and separate identity,
The irony of which
For some omniscient source…
Really,
In all this confusion?
Mmmm...
Is best without voice at all.