Why didn’t we stay?
Plucking peaches from the vine on a golden garden day.
Instead of clinging limply to our fall; lighting fires
to keep wolves at bay.
We could have kept our Eden, left to fiddle in unknowing.
But innocence once lost can never be regained,
and the clock struck deep into our collective soul.
It cannot be turned back, will not be retained.
Too late to ask Prometheus why we chose to bear his flame.
The fire that lit our minds with questions
burns beyond control or shame.
I long for simple sciences to occupy my time
birthed from human obsession,
sculpted from rhythm and rhyme.
Fire and ink.
Passed down from Greek to Greek,
how I wish the flame had burned our hands.
If only I didn’t have to know,
those empty urges and dark demands.