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