The Fall

The Fall

It is a quaint little parchment
Written as if by someone just discovering
The power of words and silence
The big round letters of an adolescent
Shaped into a metaphor of hope
Becoming the bloated lines of adulthood as I read them aloud
The last spoken words of Eden
If only we

This was once a place
One walked barefooted on soft, responsive ground
Not having to watch or worry about direction and consequence
A place without death
Until love surprised us all
Love, the spontaneous creation
The catalyst ushering in an eve of womanhood
And defining, against all specifications, mankind
Love, uncontrolled by deity
Anarchistic, without boundary, without license

But love was never meant to be between a snake and a virgin
The skins don't match up
Hers is perfect
And if there be any imperfections
They are perfect imperfections
Like the shape of her hopeful script
A celebration of imperfection

So I slide along the empty gateway
Trying not to think
Knowing there is only one path, one direction
Away

And I can't help thinking

She imagined, perhaps wishing, I would remain
She imagined Eden would not be changed
With her passing
Doesn't she know?

I crawl along the sealed and painted pavement
Unable to feel the earth beneath
Unable to feel anything beneath
If I could only fall
Once more, again
I might be the fool and happy

Perhaps the price of love is imbalance
To dance the edge of the garden wall
With all the fool-hearty courage of children
Believing the soft ground of Eden will catch us
No matter which way we slide