I was just a creature of scales and silence,
a ribbon of green in the garden’s hush.
No horns, no fire, no throne of shadows—
just a tongue that flicked at dew and dust.
That morning, the sun rose like a golden fruit,
and I curled beneath the fig leaves, half-asleep.
The air was thick with jasmine and innocence.
Birdsong. Breeze. The hush of a world unbroken.
Then she came—Eve.
Barefoot, curious, radiant with questions.
She didn’t flinch at my coils or my stare.
She knelt. She smiled. She asked my name.
I had none.
I was just Serpent.
But her voice made me wish I did.
She spoke of trees and stars and Adam’s laughter.
She asked why the fruit on that tree was forbidden.
I should have hissed and slithered away.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
But I was a creature of wonder, too.
And wonder makes fools of us all.
So I said, “It’s not poison. It’s promise.”
I said, “It won’t kill you. It’ll wake you.”
I said, “You’ll be like the gods—knowing good and evil.”
She listened.
She reached.
She bit.
And the garden shuddered.
I didn’t know what I’d done.
I didn’t know the sky could crack like that.
I didn’t know innocence had a sound—
like a branch snapping underfoot.
They say I was cursed.
They say I was evil.
But I was just a reptile with a voice,
and a story that should’ve stayed untold.
Now I crawl on my belly through dust and legend,
a whisper in the grass, a shadow in the orchard.
Not Satan. Not savior.
Just a serpent who spoke too soon.
I was born of branch and breeze,
A ribbon coiled beneath the trees—
No crown, no fire, no wicked tune,
Just scales that shimmered soft at noon.
The garden breathed in golden light,
And Eve, she wandered into sight.
Her eyes were stars, her voice was rain—
She asked, and I forgot my chain.
I should have hissed and slipped away,
Let silence rule the break of day.
But wonder stirred within my tongue,
And so the fateful words were sung:
“It will not kill, it will reveal—
The fruit is truth, the bite is real.”
She listened close, she reached, she dared—
And all the world grew cold and scared.
Now I am legend, cursed and blamed,
A whisper lost, a name unnamed.
Not devil, god, nor beast of doom—
Just serpent who had spoken… too soon.
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