Wednesday, 3 December 2014

I leave of my own volition

Next poem in the Pinocchio series.

I leave of my own volition:

Upon the Tree the orbs hung,
distant planets to eyes denied 
access; highlighted by the serpent 
forever damned to slither into stories
as demon, black hearted, forked tongue.

Yet the hand that plucked the fruit
could just as easily have sought 
truth, might not have been so childish 
nor disobedient (punished with death
for both and scorn for the female).
She may have been on the search 
for answers that abound in every mind. -
Who am I in this deep blanket where stars 
whisper answers ears cannot decipher?  

The apples may have seemed appropriate. 

Centuries later, with gargantuan bones 
excavated, and laws of evolution scattered 
by the denizens of devout truth,
perhaps a new apple tree needs to be 
planted - this time the fruit picked 
with deliberate understanding. 

Destiny in human hands 
not some code of laws
only the collared lawmakers
seem fortunate enough to understand.

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