the Man takes, the Man feels, the Man smiles the moment he opens the gates to paradise. the sweet smell of Love, Citrus, and Buds intoxicate and inflame. Reason is left hanging at the door.
the Man tramples, the Man climbs, the Man lusts as greed fills His cup with summerwine. those blooms of youth, ripe and unblemished, are nothing more than vague memories. Innocence is picked down.
that piercing, drunk hand leaves trees barren and bloated. white blossoms are stained, drowning in a bloodcrushed wave. fruits lay grounded, forgotten, carcasses mourning to the softening beat of His hungry gait.
the Orange Groves will lay to waste, rotting to soil, ripped apart and torn together. another god will whisper and out of sodden earth: a new Man will rise.
condemned, He marches, beckoned by the crisp juicy apples of the Orchard just down the way