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The Idealism of the Garden of Eden

Part 1: Creating A New Garden Of Eden

The Dictator looked at his country with beaming eyes,

“Finally, a Garden Of Eden, real on Earth.”

It was all he wanted since birth,

A world full of peace, no crime, no evil, no lies.

He smiled at the setting sun. He achieved his goal.

Across the regime, a disillusioned boy ate an apple;

Not remarkable in any way, it was ripe and red.

It looked like a glass mirror before it was eaten.

He gave a bite to his disillusioned friend, who was a girl,

And they hoped that this dystopia would end.

The world was dictated in The Dictator’s image.

Families lost, torn apart, McCarthyism elaborated and bent to the extreme.

All to keep that one dream, the utopia of peace.

Yet the pieces of this puzzle didn’t align.

It was only The Garden Of Eden for a few.

The rest were too afraid to speak, but they had secret hideouts to discuss; the truth: they were all blue.

Time and time again, people tried to revolt.

Time and time again, the best punishment was exile.

The worst was forced self-inflicted pain.

The Dictator wanted this to last forever.

His Garden of Eden, the peace was found

At the cost of the many.

The dream was alive at the death of others.

There was a smoke building in the air,

Slowly smothering everyone’s heirs.

The Dictator created a garden,

Wishing it was The Garden Of Eden.

The Dictator thought he was flying,

but he forgot about his brother, Icarus 2,

And his sister, Medusa, who flew away.

He wanted everything to stay,

For life to be a perfect, utopian picture.

It was the fixture

Of his life, his mission, his reality as The Dictator.

He was certainly the father of the country—

Darth Vader,

But he saw himself as Jesus.

One man’s garden is another man’s hell.

The boy and girl smiled. They will assassinate The Dictator,

Even if it took forever.


Part 2: The Bleeding Garden

The shot rang through the air like a gong, or bell.

It shook the garden for a brief moment.

The Dictator was assassinated, and hell was no more.

The boy and girl used an apple seed as a bullet;

It hit the head of The Dictator,

Stopping his dreams forever.

The red blood oozed out of him, like a stream.

The boy and the girl, now of age, had a new dream

For a new Garden Of Eden;

One where even heathens could be free.

Yet they too, wanted to inherit the empire.

They were going to rebuild the world up, hoping it would slide down to where they began.

But who was to be in power?

Before, they had a blossoming relationship, like a newly grown flower.

Now, it was messy, and getting messier every hour.

Only one could rule.

Only one can rule.

“But they lead, can’t they change that?”

Maybe, but polytheism isn’t existent here;

Hasn’t been since The Dictator.

They were so close, so near to being married

But their love was united in killing The Dictator.

Once he was buried,

They ate an orange

And wanted a new slate.

But they couldn’t ditch it now;

They assassinated him for a dream.

A dream that made sense in their head

And in their bed, at night.

But reality, it gave them a fright.

They built glasses using The Dictator’s blood.

They called them “Rose Tinted Lenses.”

And while they worked for a new utopia,

They used the money from selling these glasses to the masses

Until they made a new utopia: Earth

They were halfway to Hell.

They wanted reality since birth.

The “Rose Tinted Lenses” glasses made people see what they wanted to see,

So they let the boy and girl be

As they built a new world, and watched their master plans unfold.

The Golden Child of The Dictator bit an apple.

He was going to avenge his father

By creating the world as red as the apple he bit out of.

But for now; his life is forgotten, untold.

Part 3: The Garden Of Hell

A boy, now considered a man, lit a match.

His life, aflame with anger since his father was shot.

This was the moment he waited for since he bit that apple oh, so long ago.

He looked up. The boy and girl who killed his father were chained,

Nowhere to move, restrained.

The way this world worked, kill the leader, you become the leader.

He knew what was going to happen next.

The floor was covered in oil.

He dropped the match and left his house, slowly.

The boy and girl screamed in muffled silence.

They were burnt alive.

Now The Golden Child could create his world.

He was still angry no one remembered his father;

So he watched the fire he created

And decided to slaughter only with fire.

He was going to create Hell.

He did not have the wings of hope his Dad had.

He did not have the disillusionment the people he burnt alive had.

So what did he have?

Anger, disappointment, and memories;

They had grown within him like trees.

His uncle and aunt suddenly appeared.

Icarus and Medusa, he had only heard of them.

They were real? His aunt and uncle grabbed him and steered him away from the smoke and flames.

They had tears in their eyes,

And The Golden Child knew he was to blame.

He was the new leader, but not new to this game.

His aunt and uncle pleaded with him,

“Leave, while you can.”

But their pleas fell on deaf ears.

He wanted to ban happiness,

For he was going to enjoy this new fame.

Everyone had “Rose Tinted Lenses” glasses,

He was going to offer them insecurity mirrors.

And so, the insecurity mirrors sold well;

With that money he built himself a throne.

He saw the world as letting him down,

So he let them down by doing nothing.

The insecurity mirrors led to more frowns.

The Golden Child, now leader,

caused more secret arson attacks across his country.

He was lost.

He worked for this dream, at what cost?

The fire was like him,

Spontaneous, charismatic, loud, reflective;

All at once, sometimes small sometimes wild,

But each and every time, it faded away.

As he tried not to rule, he lost his identity.

The people stayed,

As did he,

But no one felt free.

He remembered his aunt and uncle.

He was now an old Golden Child;

His skin wrinkled like crumpled paper.

He avenged his father, but he cried before he died,

As his life, his dream, he had lied to himself this whole time.

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