Seventeen and cast from civility,

tossed into a Perilous Wood,

stomach empty, heart unlearned.

If I freed myself I could return,

so I embarked on a hero’s journey.

No sense of direction could have saved me,

no map or compass or guide.

Each stride saw bleeding arms from bramble

until I was cloaked in thorns.

How many days went by starving?

How many nights spent without sleep?

The body’s endurance is an incredible thing.

Collapsed on a pillow of moss and lichen,

a flash of silver caught my eye.

The illuminated entrance of a garden,

marked by modest flowers in moonlight.

A whisper caught the wind,

an evening replicate of the original sin.

In entering I saw the shedded skin,

but paid it no mind.

Too captivated by the glimmering white.

If we were not meant to feed off of poisonous flowers,

then why would they taste so sweet?

Why would they make your face flush, pupils blow, heart beat?

Make your body shake,

your mind forget all malady?

There I was,

stomach full

of Lily of the Valley.