I need to write a poem about a ***** cell
something that illustrates
the magnitude
of existence, specifically
.5 our origin.
This poem should pluck heart strings,
our strum like violin (redundant?)
as that’s what good poems do,
and we are emotionally wired
from birth to death.
During conception
our parents were not thinking about us (though
God was, and his warmth
is warmer than the womb
or Sun) and that brings us to the pleasure
the stimuli integrated
within the net
mesh pocket of living organisms.
What strokes a heart? Not a violin,
no, empathy, understanding, the saliva
of love and lust and passion, so much to
discuss, so many images
to muster into paper.
Do you see the futility in this?
**** this poem,
this poem is not important.
You are the individual that rocked the chances of time and genetics!
You are the individual that mastered death with breath!
You are known before birth and post mortem,
as there is transcendence beyond
that ancient brain of yours, dear reader.
There were billions of potential combinations
of ***** and egg, and you
are the ***** fish caught,
and you
are the one bathed
and you
are one of ***** suds.

Your rituals of wallets and currency,
your miss-personifications of love,
all irrelevant.
You are only known whole-ly by God