Perfume in a forbidden garden.
Desires hidden behind friendly smiles.
Paradise held no inhibitions.
Society celebrates the variety
Of nearly all.
But some falls
Can not be forgiven.
So Adam waits
Though the Devil prates
Of outdated convention.
But the fruit
Is not quite ripe.
You and I
Said goodbye
For a little time.
I walk through
Fallen leaves
And compose a rhyme
To Eve
And Paradise Lost.
Verdant flowers.
Lovers under a tree
Taste fruit.
Unnoticed, a serpent slithers.
Sometimes I would
That I could
Write about flowers,
Yet the night
Hours slowly pass
And my thought
Runs on lass
And ought?
‘Tis strange how interpretations differ.
Some will
Read a poem “as is”,
But what is “as is?”
When all is still
At night
The poet may
Stay away
And write
A verse
Or, with a curse
Taste the apple of Eve
Although he does know
That he should leave
The fruit, once sweet
Untasted, he will eat.
We are born
In naked innocence.
Soon, as man grows
He goes
To the expense of clothes,
As he is from his innocence torn.
We are obsessed
With dress.
A girl’s short skirt
Causes a man to flirt
And desire to Perceive
Eve
As she was in Paradise,
(But now in vice)
For tis impossible to recreate
Eden’s state.
Perchance the serpent thinks
As he drinks
From the fountain of love,
Of how he fell,
As star dust
From the sky above,
Into this heaven, this hell,
And now is bound
All around,
With what some call love, and others lust
Low-hanging fruit I recall.
I longed to taste,
For some say it is the route
To pleasure. yet
in my haste
To enjoy
I did forget
That the worm does destroy,
And the boy
Should not tempt the fruit to fall.
Swimming in sulphurous waters
With the daughters
Of Eve.
Adam doth grieve
But woman does not deceive
For man does freely choose
His innocence to lose.
Man desires
Paradise
While the serpent sires
Vice
Under indifferent skies.
The serpent lies
Apparently slumbering,
While secretly numbering
Every notch
That does blotch
His once perfect bed posts.
Ghosts
Themselves flaunt
And haunt
The dismal caverns of the mind.
No peace can man find
With the vampire
Desire
For she on herself feeds
And seeds
Lust
In we human dust.
A perfect pare.
So ripe and fair.
To have you there
A perfect pair.
No one to stare
Where
The perfect pare hangs
Within easy reach of hands
That desire
To quench a fire.
The love of fruit
Is At the root
Of the fall from grace.
A place
Called Paradise, where Eve ate the apple.
The sunlight no longer dapples
Eden’s Lawns
where innocent fawns
Where wont to Play.
Or so the moralists say.
All this will pass away
But I have fruit today …
The fruit grows within easy reach.
How simple to take a peach
Or plum.
How delightfully does temptation come.
The juice turns to gall.
Better to let the fruit fall
or be gathered by other hands.
But desire commands
us to pick
and sip.
The devil’s tune seems sweet
and once our feet
begin to dance
We have no chance
To stop
but must waltz until we drop.
Show me paradise where information pumps like an ever flowing river through the brain. Show me Eden where we are always connected, where sad thoughts are drowned out by the chatter of the information superhighway. Show me happiness where chips smaller than a grain of sand control our emotions, where reality and the virtual meet, but to what end? Show me pleasure unbounded, love without strings where virtual partners fulfil our wildest dreams. Show me a world of smiling, happy people where the god of pleasure reigns and I will show you a kind of hell.
K Morris - Poet 