Beginnings
In their enclosed quarantine zone
Adam and Eve saw no need for poetry
an art form that could not hope
to rival any of the sounds within those
cold, transparent test tubed walls
poetry exists when things fall short
when there is a gap between the want and the real
Perfection kills poets in the wom
poetry only became possible after the expulsion
inch by inch and step by step the world degraded
still, their eyes could rotate back and forth
and their necks could turn, their bodies spin
and still see nothing but beauty in this new world
poetry then was just a slight commentary
on the varying forms of beauty, and how
while joyous, a tad wanting in comparison
then came not the fall, but the murder
and their child at that, at the hands
of their other child, they had spawned
monsters and Eve inwardly cursed their gods
and cast them out of her heart
Adam’s gaze then narrowed
and the world descended further from
the heavens above, hard times
for in his memory, if you had asked
how far the stars
why he would laugh and reply
why a strong jump upwards
the bats and the birds of the night
must take care navigating around them
but no longer
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beauty was every where, abundant
but eating at the edges, rot and spoilage
age and time, leeching both beauty and strength
the sorrow of a dead child in his heart
inwardly he questioned his gods
and thus the evolution of poetry began
and poets blinked upon seeing new facts
and sought to paper over the faults
with their flowered prose, and for a time
they were equal to the task
the modern age finds them hard atoil
delusional thought processes, coupled with
mental frameworks to edit and delete
all those unpleasant sights and sounds
the extinctions abounding around them
now they no longer even enter the gardens
or valleys encountered, too afraid of finding
the dread hand of mankind, corpse flies
and maggots crawling through the dead
hard to wax poetical
today we wear tattered cloaks
made out of shameful history
frantic hands attached to
minds that have retreated into banality
seeking a refuge there
write then of rainbows, sweet tastes
waterfalls, certainly, but select carefully
not the ones where body parts and garbage
pour over the lip, endlessly into the once
graceful fall
