What was once green skin
Gripping the fruit
Is now a browning husk
Coming loose

Age stirs in the dissolution of the ego
And as time passes by
We learn not to whine
Nor ask why
But we fight by calling truce.

And how long will you dote to tell my story,
My love?
And how tight can you possibly hold me,
That my insides should crumble
And my hopes and dreams should fall?

This, no, this
Is our middle space
The place where we come together
And compromise it all.

The life doesn't belong to me
Or the tree
Or the forest,
That is the force which gently pries with time
This husk from my body
And it feels good
But it hurts,

I fall