She Feeds Him
No, this is no ordinary fruit, it grows of a tree with an
extraordinary root, Its veins run red, not amber as with sap, its appetite rabid as in the Venus Fly Trap, drinking its prey from a well deep within, evoking the power Of the pen to turn man against kin. Drowning in nectar, the true face of Sin, masking it in perfumes and fresh linen muslin. She plucks of this Tree its most shimmering fruit, she caught it ripe, just before it fell to the Root, as I said once before, this my friend, is no ordinary fruit. She Picked it and ran to show him her catch, the devil in the details His peril would fetch. He peered at the fruit with a lusty gaze, a Tinge of insanity at its onset phase, hardly saint nor demon, without Innocence or guilt, he ate of the fruit as the tree did wilt. He ate all She gave him, she gave him true lies. She knew not the truthFor she saw without eyes, a voice in the garden described all to her,The voice of the serpent, the wind did spur, damning this was, toMen yet unborn, men of distinction, raught with scorn. This fruit thatShe feeds him, from hell it was born and she’ll know nothing until the
Vail is torn.
