Like Eve with her apple
and the young ruler with his riches
I don’t believe that you are good.
“He’s holding out on you,”
the slippery tongued serpent says
and I turn my ear toward his hiss.
“Just look at this shiny red skin --
tell me its juice isn’t sssweet.”
“These golden coins are the best way
to make sure that you stay sssafe.”
I’m tempted, I confess
to place gifts above giver, to bow
at an altar of your created things.
grant me faith instead.
Only you know what is best.
Come break apart these shimmering idols
clutched beneath my breast.