Candy

Tell me tales of sugary fancy,
let me savor its every syrupy word,
for I might know it’s not good for my health,
but the fleeting pleasure is so delicious
going down the throat much smoother
than that sustenance tainted by textures
lacking the same thrill,
even if they honestly have a medicinal benefit.

So send the chocolate seller into my life
with his seductive tongue,
I’ll keep on acting as though I want to only shop
at a health food store.
Don’t shuffle me off to the place
where produce is offered that truly sustains
because I lust for the sweet taste of candy
knowing it will make me happy,
even if later my body suffers from the choice.

Then after my body has declined
I’ll raise a voice against the delusion
let ire rise against the wrong
feeling so righteous for my rage.

How the mind craves in fickle whim
wanting to know what is real,
yet quickly hungering with desire
what I can taste from honeyed flavor,
no matter if it corrupts and corrodes.

Though I might revile the treachery
of those who make such treats,
when I stir my own batch,
to serve to self and others,
somehow I convince myself
it all was worthwhile
since I made others happy,
which is more important
than if what is prepared actually helps.