How can I write poetry
Full of metaphor and simile
That masks the raw truth of life?

I cannot, because I know, to a certainty,
The simple, all powerful source of
All man’s torments, miseries and joys.

You may well laugh or snort derisively
At this pompous assertion,
But I am no braggart.

The simple truth is …

None of us, as individuals, matters
To the purpose embedded in our genetic material.

We are here to serve the human gene pool
In its mission to continue our species.

We may be of any nature,
Benign or terrible
Loving or hateful,
Kind or cruel,
Beautiful or ugly,
It matters not.

What matters is that the best available sperm arrive
At the sacred gate of each available ovum.

All the posturing, greedy accumulation, ritual grooming,
Raw aggression, coy flirtations, raping and pillaging,
That grace or beset you or me
Are just tools or collateral damage
Of the gene pool’s irresistible need
To get the eggs and seeds together.

We fancy up this truth with
Stories and sagas
Songs and poetry
Imaginary lovers and demons
Travel and romance.

The only important feelings are the yearning
For the union of egg and sperm
And for the care of the young
So the race will continue.

Poetry is dead.

03/08/2008

Posted on 03/08/2008
Copyright © 2026 Ronald A Pavellas