An Ode
[Source – Pixabay]
*
Up on the tree defying gravity,
Red or green or the golden me
Appears the same like the rest on the tree.
Fruits of love mixed with manure, sin-free
In one, sinful in yet another story;
An apple, that is writing this ode to apples like me,
Reveals the truth that it has no identity.
Hear-ho, hear-o! Here-here, go slow!
Don’t rush to grasp, to know
The unknown, here-here, go slow!
Apples in chronicles
Apples in stores and wars
Apples – rhyming schemes
Apples and vitamins
Apples packed in tins
Apples starring in films
Apples rotting in bins
Is truth but also the past that doesn’t last
Until you carry it along for too long,
To understand that which is long gone,
Never seeing the o-so-fresh song,
You carry the long gone.
While we, the apples, are little bundles of the now,
Up on the tree, now on the floor,
Now fresh, now rotten, now gone,
Now a seed, now born,
Never-never-never in a hurry to rise or fall,
Never-never-never in a hurry to live or die,
For we, the apples, are little bundles of the now.
*
[Source – Pixabay]
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