The prompt at NaPoWriMo today is:
Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that recounts a creation myth. It doesn’t have to be an existing creation myth, or even recount how all of creation came to be.
An Account of Creation
The whole idea is sub-par. Lacking in scientific detail as much as a proper metal dialogue, minus language. You simply cannot claim that, in anger, you painted the sky red in three days yet fail to deliver the simple equation of paint-pails divided by the time each brush-stroke stole. I refuse to believe that human-kind was just rolled out like a baker flour-dusting before his cookie-cutting. I also refute the idea that particle dust was of no essence. Only those innocent, most feeble and sheeply-minded could defy the fact that the universe spun star-matter and moon dust in the cauldron of its empty guts for eons, until some magnificent combustion came to fruition. A general mutation that mutated for a billion years into the cells of myself, the pigment of my hair. Yes...everything alive is a positively-charged collection of atoms. We are but the reincarnation of dead-star.