Revolt in the Garden

Act I: Lilith & Adam

The integrity of keeping one’s word,
whether bound by oath
or spoken as one’s own truth.
Oh, those who never meant it—
may their tongues in fire perish,
for with words they sought to embellish
ill intentions that, in the end, flourish.
Be they men cast from dust,
or women from an essence alike.

Act II: You

Perhaps the essence is not what we were,
but our acts of good in time instead.
Perhaps your voice speaks what others thought,
while theirs were silenced by moronic norms.
Perhaps the name to break our chains
is not engraved in “to be”, but in “to choose” and “to change”.
Perhaps the vowels we think are missing are not unknown;
perhaps we choose to call god: her, or him, or both.

Act III: Art for my Wall

A garden is old when left on a bookshelf,
waiting for watercolors to conjure an elf’s spell.
A garden is “now” when you weave the old thread;
of roles, abuse, and deceit that always return as threats.
When you weave the old thread with words of today,
the garden is no hearsay, but what people still say.
May Lilith become a painting, showing a human imperative:
the assertive desire acting, declaring, stating:
“I don’t wanna be in this narrative.
Take me out of the placeholder for guilt.
Turn me into a painting, ’cause this battle is lit.
And just like you, I was beaten;
but now it’s my time to hit.”