Poetry: The Last Drop of Kindness

First stories first like the first simile yet,
He crafted, said, moulded as we fade.
Into the void that looked like a void,
He screamed for light to give people sight.
One was for today and the other, an opposite of day.
Slowly he cut the barbed-wires holding where he would call home
Whenever he wanted to roam.
One he gave to us,
The other came after the dust – off the ground.

So he whistled into the sky and some creatures imitated him.
He gave them names and some chose to feed on grains.
With the flow of his pen he made some for the den,
Some out of lightning with roar that scared our core.
Each in pair he made one for the other to care.

His custodian however was all alone.
He looked at him and saw a complicated bone.
He caused him to sleep as peaceful as a fury.
Then out of the kindness of his heart,
He moulded a being, and from her, he shouldn’t part.
Later we heard he poured all of him in her and called her woman.
So we learn to be human.

Ruddapoet