The fruit that blossoms,
From a forbidden tree,
Roots entangled with rage and hatred,
Bounds to fall not far from hostility.

There arrives the day,
Exceptionally rare,
A series of impulses overthrow tradition,
Yearning to break a Berlin Wall of aversion,
A single love struck glance,
The fruit begins to gravitate,
Farther from its branch.

The lips of a sinner,
The sinners words remain holy,
A harmless beginning,
To a dangerous passion,
Two sets of eyes two sets of hands,
Two enthralled hearts,
The tools of lust,
Or perfidy,
Two fruits in two forbidden trees,
Identical centers and dissimilar skins,
They are each hanging by a thread.

One love sprung by one hate,
A tragic scenario beginning with unknown intentions,
Living parallel lives,
Disconnected by vines,
that have failed to touch yesterday and today,
But tomorrow may change,
As the fruits fall.