The fruit basket hangs empty
In a brisk morning’s glow
Once was flourishing
With ripe apples, crimson sweet candies galore.
Delicious apples, lessening the bitterness of my soul
So spectacular, in the evening’s grandeur.
Candelabra and a crystalline chandelier
Sure to catch every sparkle and warm words spoke
Now
Silence embarks this place which was once a home
An apple slowly rots
Under a slumbering tree
But inside the apple, remain some seeds
They sprout to roots, stronger than rope
Much like the kitchen table, made of sturdy oak.
Branches swing the rope, as I slowly choke
What becomes of life after death
Is a question one may ponder
Look around and see
Death is apart of everything
You, me, this apple tree
Everything is temporary.
Feb 12, 2022
Feb 12, 2022 at 8:31 PM UTC
The fruit basket hangs empty
In a brisk morning’s glow
Once was flourishing
With ripe apples, crimson sweet candies galore.
Delicious apples, lessening the bitterness of my soul
So spectacular, in the evening’s grandeur.
Candelabra and a crystalline chandelier
Sure to catch every sparkle and warm words spoke
Now
Silence embarks this place which was once a home
An apple slowly rots
Under a slumbering tree
But inside the apple, remain some seeds
They sprout to roots, stronger than rope
Much like the kitchen table, made of sturdy oak.
Branches swing the rope, as I slowly choke
What becomes of life after death
Is a question one may ponder
Look around and see
Death is apart of everything
You, me, this apple tree
Everything is temporary.
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