The night is speared
with splinters from
the brutish bore
that scarred
Atlanta's heart.
It is an over told tale
that fails to adequately
express itself.
There where she fell
feeling all
is where she lost
the only one
whom she thought
she could truly love.
Though all pursued
that swift footed muse,
sought to use,
and abuse her mighty heart,
it was my golden apple,
my forbidden fruit
of Eden's garden
filled with juicy wisdom
and sweet succulent knowledge
that won her.
Intelligence that sought to
empower her to
know that though
I long to love her
physically and passionately
my truest desire
is to see her elevated
not on a pedestal of adulation
for an ideation,
some fake iteration
but to see her truest self-exposed
and the heart of her art
allowed to bloom brighter
then that heavenly orange fire
we all call Helios.