Pure

I was born already
from a transgression
a symptom of a fracture
in a falling grace

I was told of heirlooms
of the luxury of my name
and the prestige of which
I only inherited the brooms

amongst the trees in the farms
the golden fruits were leaving
they were there for a moment
I recall being too late

people left before I could
miss them. I didn't miss anyone
I missed time and the memories
of a fading kingdom

every now and then I will
recognize a memory of that
and my soul will remind me
of my homeland never been

by which the malice of the sin
cast upon nature and earth
shakes me, revolts me deeply
it is too sinister to know

for tying the knots of a plague
to a healthy organism of hope
is not a human sin
it is a harvest of corruption