Tags

, , , , ,

I’ve been inspired by my friend, Katie to publish an old poem from August 10th, 2008, that came back into my mind a few days ago. It was found in an old poetry book of mine, that is unfinished (i should write more poetry, but 70,000 word novels keep happening).

Poison Apples

I broke down their garden gate

in a fit of fire and fury,

breaking twigs and ants beneath my toes.

I stood in front of your apple tree

to pull down your red, ripe apple.

I held it in my hand with pride a sly sin.

Shiny and wonderful as you are.

Cut it in half to see a star.

The symbol that I happened to draw.

I took a bite of the stolen good

sweet and flooding my taste buds.

It was yours and now I give a gift to myself.

Like you would want it anyway.

I am the reason there is poison in the apple.

I am the one capable of measuring it into vials.

and making a dose equivalent to what I consume

everyday.

What antidote is this you possess?

What antidote makes you naive and sheltered?

These apples rot on your trees.

Advertisements