Bane of Longevity

Look past the seeds of greed,
and see the roots--planted firm
contouring lines of flaking crust
and mud, long since tried and true.

And from the seed will surely grow,
the fabled oak, hampered fast--
by legitimate oaths of Eden?
Judge the soil as you would the snake.

Heavy hands at the axes hilt,
and soon the oak is lost to Her--
Persephone, or perhaps Eve
weeping among the jaded splints.

And from the splint we weave the fable,
not to be distrusted, but be wary.
No barren leafless shrine to God,
can be touched by man and survive the trial.

The time decides the liable fate,
and the pages left unturned, best used
for pressing fallen blood rose petals.
Can longevity exist beyond the bane of faith?