borne,
by Eden's hiatus
o the fruits we've plucked
tasted in creator's afflatus
smudged underneath sin's eyelids
weighed upon by chained misleads
pray, to seize the fleeing fear
fear that enroots seizures.
crawling,
if we were to swing our breaths
from stemming cradles to ripe deathbeds
and the wuthering within
our hearts shall beat best
in the unrest we've dwelled
as nails share with the cuticle
a breath and a death.
walking,
while we savour and savour
the sweet wine of stars
which swirls, flavoured silver blood
yet a generous drop sticks unto mortals
from the abundance of Neptune
the saviour's salted kiss
is but, not persuasion
merely, an unsound chortle.
death,
my friend, brings you, on knees
all the men who have thus said
bow and kneel on theirs
before the nucleus of life
this unknown and widely known
whose power is exploited
in everything but mere name.
redemption,
as it satiates taste buds of maw
pervading through all the whiffs
like drowning in the deep deluge
of little water that may wash
the deeds away, not in dense stains
seeking green groves leading
to a beetroot shaded maze.
born,
the red bite of the fruit on lips
has been seeded ages ago
forbidden the good and the evil
ignorance, the sentinel
of where our hands sow
in the vast lush garden.
but so it happens
in the era and epoch of gods
that blood of the next of kins
embellishes naked and porous skins.