Untouched Porridge: The first poet

There is much debate to this effect. An effect so old, predating art.

It is this which I dissect. This, in its possible parts:

Who wrote which words which weigh

alone, the heaviest in our minds?

Who wrote them first, I wonder,

he who heralded them as heavenly sighs?

That coin-tossed winner won the privilege

Of writing ANY words to suit his image.

Now us ravaged hunters endlessly forage

For forbidden fruits and perfect porridge.

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I wrote this piece in response to another writer. The piece I was reading was trite, and bored me to tears, but I couldn't tell him that. I felt obligated to tell him that he wrote something anyone writes. I hope I didn't hurt him.