does anyone care to see my poem as it develops?

CYCLE

Flawless teeth break the skin of Eden’s taboo fruit,
and Adam’s clock begins, the first click as distinct as a snap
made by the grieving fingers of God.

Transience is a root-canal realization: breathtaking and terrible.
A rush: tight skin releasing, the rip of heated shame, the
strange new spray on the brow, all following
the defiant handshake with mortality.

A climax of terror, real and swelling, and the vague promise
of death, but the word has no meaning, and yet Eve fears – but wait.
Her stomach is mottled with odd disappointment
when mysterious death is delayed.

…

It’s nicer to imagine a barefoot Father strolling on the grass,
hands behind his back while leaning to smell a sweet marigold,
a small smile resting on his lips as he surveys his own creation,
than to picture what sadness must have hung like a weighty pendulum
from His heart as He called, “Where are you?” to the hiding man and wife,
knowing full well that they were soiled and ashamed, and that it had begun.
The cool of the day lost magical pleasantries as darkness truly fell.

…

Fitted in fur garments of some friend’s sacrifice and adjusting to life
beyond garden boundaries, the couple stops to consider:
was it really that bad? Wasn’t it only just fruit? Decay seems so natural now.
Puzzled, Adam sometimes wanders alone to Eden’s eastern border,
studies that continually flaming sword, and marvels at the extreme gate:
is this really necessary?

…

Her name suits her well, this mother of two. Eve laughs again
as she watches the boys play together; there is something of the
Garden to them. Innocence, purity, joy. She remembers it vaguely,
but she has little time for daydreams with Cain and Abel’s urgent needs.
And why does she need daydreams, with Cain and Abel in her arms?

…

Cain, we are both well aware of the field where your brother lies dead;
his is the first of many gurgling atrocities to call to Me from the earth.
The bitter taste of blood is on the soil’s tongue; it will not answer you.

…

So this is death.
Stunned at the discovery, Adam is speechless as the word without meaning
is defined by a bleeding body in a field and a guilty son, wandering in Nod.
His silence is profound; unlike his wife, he has no thoughts now. Indeed
she sobs with acute realization: Adam, it was we who began this.










So that's it, so far. It will go through another critique soon with my WRITING GROUP! (I love having a writing group!) I'm working on some other things as well, but my blog readers don't seem to be avid comment-posters.

My self-esteem is fed by blog comments. Please feed my self-esteem, people. :-)