Out On a Limb

It’s been a long while
since I worshipped
that black,
leather-bound text
assiduously assembled
by King James and his
hand-picked Hampton Court
crew of mordant men
(no ladies were invited.)

But I can still admire
the subversive bits
that make me smile
at their impish implications,
to wit:

Right from the
git-go
we’re told that
the fruit of a
particular tree
will bring death,
though its fruit
is quite tasty.

It drops my jaw
to read, again,
that the maleficent
juicy fruit
is none other than
judging between
good and evil.

Yet, my life has been built
from judgment:

This, not that,
should and shouldn’t,
good, better, best,
winners take all,
I wish I was,
I wish I wasn’t . . .

Compare, compare, compare.
And always
coming up short.

There was another tree.

I want to read,
nay, write,
the story of
what might be,
what might have been,

had we eaten from
the Tree of Life.

Or, translating from the
original angelic tongues,

The Tree of Love.

(Photo by Faye Cornish; UnSplash)