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 thatβs 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