I sprint through a paradise in disguise.
The vegetation is truly lush, perfect
For quiet admiration, but here I rush.
Threatening are the above skies.
Clouds swirl and forebode, intimidate
My senses as they swell; ready to explode.
My breathless running brings a burn to my thighs.
The soft ground flattened by my pounding strides, blinding
Pain cuts into me and attacks my insides.
The sting takes away the vision from my eyes.
But still on I go with all remaining might, undeterred
By these limitations that have cost me my sight.
Slowing down would be my certain demise.
The storm roars to life with thunderous barks, danger
On the rise, circling me like hungry sharks.
Rain hammers down, the downpour grows in size.
I pray for shelter before the lightning arrives, striking
Me by surprise like a million white-hot knives.
This is the Seventh Circle with the Garden as its guise.
I feel its wrath as I continue to run, begging
For its end and to again feel the warm embracing sun
The winds come to life as I whisper my goodbyes.
I fall down to my hands and knees, seeing
Now that eating from the Trees was not so wise.
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