Golden Mean

There’s a tree, on which we fix

With fruit as “golden mean”

Is there truly white or onyx?

Gray is what it deams

This tree; accursed all peoples

Midst the garden where we dine

“Knowing good and evil”

Deceived, to “be divine”

This tree; that yields one sight

As tempted by, was Eve

Poisonous first bite

It veils the eyes to see

This tree; with pride as fodder

The conscience seared to silence

Bleeding out all color

Self-righteous in light's absence

This tree; where pure’s evaded;

Monochromatic hued

Is black, its tone just faded

Gray’s moral lens askewed