The return to Eden is never as sweet,
not then in the twilight return-
apple juice dripping from the lips of marble guardians.
The established harbor for unsolved evils:
a once dark cave, a once dark hiding place from sin uncloaked by day light.
Not now that the pillars of innocence have crumbled-
starry skies crashing down on quaking finite purity.

My room has gone cold-
soft bed-sheets turned rigid with the transparent dust of faded conscious.
It has been a lifetime; maybe two,
gray eyes now fall upon the bed-
a coffin to rest, but never more to heal.
Blankets no longer shield against the monsters.
Silhouettes of mothers reading stories by night light-
sweet whispers of tranquility as the wolf smiles in grandma’s clothes.

The bread crumbs that led here are gone,
swept aside by the cold vindictive hands of time.
No the covers don’t protect me from monsters anymore,
But serve to warm the wolf carcass-
a puppet of artificial deity that lay twitching in my bed,
subject to each clench of the coiled snake around its neck.