All the More Human, For Eve Pandora

All the More Human, for Eve Pandora by Michael R. Burch a lullaby for the first human Clone God provide the soul, and let her sleep be natural as ours, unplagued by dreams of being someone else, lost in the deep wild swells of losing all that "human" means ... and do not let her come to doubt herself— that she is as we are, so much alike in frailty, in the books that line the shelf that tell us who we are—a rickety dike against the flood of doubt—that we are more than cells and chance, that love, perhaps, exists because of someone else who would endure such pain because some part of her persists in us, and calls us blesséd by her bed, become a saint at last, in whose frail arms we see ourselves—the gray won out of red, the ash of blonde—till love is safe from harm and all that "human" means is that we live in doubt, and die in doubt, and only love the more because we only know to strive against an end we loathe and fear. What of?— we cannot say, imagining the Night as some weird darkened structure caving in to cold enormous pressure. Lacking sight, we lie unbreathing, thinking breath a sin ... and that is to be human. You are us— true mortal, child of doubt, hopeful and curious. Keywords/Tags: Eve, Pandora, human, clone, humanity, human being, human condition, evolution, birth, death, life and death, soul, soulmate, saint, youth