We trampled in the garden and left a trail of mourning roses. Do you now feel guilty?

Again, Adam and Eve in the biblical garden and the
Lonely 
Apple tree, groped by an uninspired poet or an
“Indie artsy” maker of films or someone mouthing a convenient story.
It is a familiar image,
Like resting your arm on a well-worn leather couch. 
The Garden of Eden must be listed somewhere on Google:
Popular date spot, 3.9 stars (the 1.1 because apples are no longer 
In season so it’s some other stand-in fruit, truly losing the 
Main Attraction). 

The grass must have been trampled into mud and balding grass, 
Each wandering Creative getting up close and personal to
Stare at this concept in its face (either Adam or Eve’s) 
Or the grain in the bark. Too much foot traffic. It is now a trail of
Muddy footprint nursing self-absorbed tadpoles. It is now
More swamp than garden, wet and garbled incoherence with a procession 
Of roses bowed with grief lining the path to its entrance.

And with this poem, I add another heavy trail into the
Regurgitated garden, another cripple on the crutch. I am sinking in
Deeper. The garden’s way of telling me to leave it’s overworked soil.
Do you feel guilty now?