Does the apple really fall near the tree?

Though by the forgotten god of wine she was named,

Her taste lies in the hearth, not ecstacy;

She is the embodiment of love, in a world where hate remains

To be the essence of its soul, its contingency;

Even in the darkness her light still shines

Unknowingly guiding the lost, until dawn comes again,

All the while wandering in search of guidance herself, she climbs

All the while wondering if the night will ever come to an end...

 

At the break of day she rises with the sun,

Yet she hides her face in fear of all that she has done;

She’s blind to all the hearts, out of love and faith, she has won;

Her eyes, so beautiful, have been veiled by the battle within,

The struggle between good and evil, the eternal plague of men,

Which by the sacrifice of one, she was freed from sin,

And through remembrance she lifts her head to the sky,

As the sun sets upon the hills, she praises God on high

For mending her heart into perfection, taking brokenness aside…

 

As she walks upon the streets of her home the people stare

In awe of the wonder that passes before them;

Never have they seen such a sight, a beauty so rare,

Never have they deemed another so worthy among men;

Whispers of her presence consume the streets,

Questioning, all of which ask the same,

They all ask “who is she, what is her name?”

And she answers, “daughter of the forgotten god of wine, Denise.”