Poem 19: Creation Myth

Today's Napowrimo challenge: 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. It could be, for example, your own take on the creation of ball-point pens, or the discovery of knitting. Your myth can be as big or small as you would like, as serious or silly as you make it."

One should never use the word "silly" with me.  It's the equivalent of throwing the glove down.

But, ah.... I'm supposed to be writing a script/speech for an upcoming event next week, where I share my "life journey" with "interested" females. So maybe I can knit (yukyuk) these two things together?

Or maybe not. (See above, "silly" and "glove down.")

*

Origins of the F Bomb

God created everything from the void,

and God saw that everything was 

supremely and wondrously 

good.

Or so God thought, 

reclining above God's goodness

in blinding celestial brilliance 

on a white throne

surrounded by the achingly beautiful 

angelic host

singing in thrilling harmony 

on fluffy organza clouds,

for about five minutes. 

And then God realized

with a Godlike shudder

that shook the heavens 

that God was bored

out of God's immense mind.

Perfection, goodness?

God bent God's magnificent head

upon God's excellently sculpted right hand

and pondered the problem

of infinitely uninterrupted peace

and material prosperity

until

epiphany!

There's no story, God thought.

No tension, no drama, 

no unrequited desire.

The devil is in the details,

God thought (not without

a sly Self-satisfied smirk,

having come up with that cliche

on the Godlike fly), and so

by God!

God would have to make a few

mistakes in God's creation,

yes, yes, yes,

starting with God's masterpieces

frolicking with 100% 

innocent abandon

in God's gated garden community,

Eden.

Thus, God rubbed God's massive

hands of creation together 

with Godly glee

and decreed:

Let's f**k this s**t up.