Taste No Evil

Forbidden fruit tastes like home;

where midday naps are common, and

contentment knows no end.

I find myself enthralled with its would-be poison;

bewitched, and even more,

altered.

It's mutation,

filtering acceptable forms of morality

out of my blood, until all that's left

is hunger.

I'm starving for its nutritious,

juicy, and misguided taste.

Thirsty, because not even water can satisfy.

How does one go about quenching a thirst

it knows not the beginnings of?

How are we brought into this world,

knowing nothing of the good that speaks evil in it's native tongue,

and yet have no true north where satiation is concerned?

I was born thirsting for something more than I am made of

and found the prescription for open eyes

to be common things indeed.

What a strange quality,

to pine for that which we may give ourselves

if we only we would say "yes".