Beauty Without Permission
The Devil insists
The Fall is Drafted
Suffering is Scripted—
as Seed
I declare the Seed a Fraud
yet still, I plant it deep
The Garden splits its Jaw
and swallows Autumn whole
The Flowers, Lord, are Feral
They bloom without my Grief
they bloom despite my Watching
Teeth in the soil—they mock
Beauty grinds its Machinery
without Permission
And I, a Cog unconsulted,
must grind in Silence
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