Listen Up

Thus men will lie on their backs, talking about the fall of man, and never make an effort to get up. - Thoreau

Primrose and alabaster.

Relics of earth's original, righteous master.

Victim of a serpentine disaster.

Standing guard over man's folly.

Like the blood red berries of holistic holly.

When you want to cry but don't have the courage to ask Heaven for permission.

Caught in a quest for redemption and slave to a cacophonous, clandestine mission.

Creation demands to know why.

As the tide goes out but refuses to give up and die.

Scaling cold, whitewashed, wailing walls.

Truth bursts into sacred colors before sin ultimately falls.

Reflections in stagnant ponds eventually ripple away.

As forests of blameless trees prophesy and sway.

Guilty castanets scratch their heads in chagrin.

Unable to click and win.

A callous, culpable crime of deception.

Casualty of yet another twisted perception.

Faith bounces on treacherous trampolines.

Like up and down crystalline dreams.

Nourished by  Eden's lemons and tangerines.

Victims of unjust hellish screams.

Much more than a mere fruit was taken.

Faith, love and loyalty lost and forsaken.

The way it had to be.

As bands of rocking angels shake their villainous, Freudian tambourines for ...

... you and me ...

Author's Note

"It is remarkable how closely the history of the apple tree is connected with that of man."
-Thoreau