The Sole of a Soul

I am writing this poem about you! It’s not an easy thing to do because I don’t know you. But I know there are billions of people on this planet. Some will die while I write this and while you read it others will be born. Most have two arms, two legs, and two eyes one heart, one brain, one mouth to speak with. We are all the same. People are people but we don’t think alike. Some of us love each other, others hate everyone; most do both unequally – we choose what we think, and we think differently. You are the perfect subject for a poem. You are the same as everyone and like no other before you; unique to yourself, exclusive to none. You elude the common and illude the extraordinary. You are a homophone for the human race. Are we not all homophones of each other? A complacence to complaisance, and effect to an affect, a tear to a tear, the sole of a soul. A homophone like you may be too large a subject for one poem, too complicated, too complex. So, I will write about my cat instead, a car ran over him yesterday he is dead; and I have, in my fridge, a half can of cat food in a plastic bag useless and taking up space and there is no homophone for that.