Shaped by the dichotomy of desire
in the garden of original sin
the fruit hung low, on a magic tree
heavy with unkept promises
soft winds whispered pretty lies
now I reach out for that tree
with an insatiable hunger
a thousand competing thoughts
rushing beneath my skin
I thirst for your touch
but fear the inevitable heat
we bury the truth
with careful lies
and promises
that we will soon be free
but reality constantly
closes the doors
and throws away the keys
grief deepening with every embrace
do I take what fate determines
or keep dreaming of what cannot be
how sweet the curse, how sharp the lyre
that plays for none
but the dichotomy of desire
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 