The winged cherub stands by me
a flaming sword held at hand
a single purpose is its charge
you'll not pass these sacred gates

now the garden has been lost
fruitful tree removed from hand
succulents with no compare
hanging low, now out of reach

I was abandoned by Father Time
after the journey of a life
standing here at the portal
prisoner of a saintly guard

caring nothing of lost joy
veins of ice in that one
a higher good is forefront
than grace reduced in passion's fall

it points east as if to share
there I must travel before I sin
lest I taste forbidden fruit
a harvest passed down the line

now my chore is to exist
to accompany this angel until I die
or likely demon, it's all the same
guardian anointed in twilight years.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20171103.