Questions posed to eden's adam
by Donald Standeford


The buds on branches are frozen;
Sap sinks deep into underground wood,
Food for us human sheets of paper,
Stacked in reams,

A frozen deck of cards;
All our lives we want to be played, to be
Dealt face down to kiss the wood table;
Numbers on our face determine our fate,
When faced up we see
The light

He inhales willingly my sick consumption,
Absorbs the waste of my leprous flesh,
Then breathes out flames of liberty;
Heat molds me into a threshing machine

My thirst for him
Cannot be quenched,
Nor can my hunger
Be satiated,
Nevertheless,
Dole out your flesh to me in bite sized chunks;
Let me sip of your blood in a small plastic cup;

And I will have strength to thresh mountains;
I'll beat to dust what stands in my way,
I will uncover the Garden of Eden, and Adam
Shall answer the questions heavy on my mind:

Adam, why did you not protect your loins?
The weight of your legacy is too much to bear;

Like rodents at birth we sniff for sin, putrid longings;
In the end you will watch your sons and daughters
Dragged to hell screaming as they're torn
Limb to limb; piece by bloody piece burned;
Adam, did you not see the coming flood?
Original sin's lust; to confuse even
The identity of our genes, urge us
To experiment with unclean
Acts? Now, Sin reproduces: dividescrawls ondividescrawls ondividescrawls on

Sniffing, they forage into the sewers.

Don V Standeford



http://www.donstandeford.com

Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com







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