I attempted moments ago
to write poetically
about a red apple.
It was uninspiring
and instead fell dull on my senses,
all of them.
I do not blame the apple...
though staring at it now
partialed, disfigured
imprinted with shadows of my teeth,
I find it ugly and used out.
Its taste
falls on me like rain
that will not soak in
Fires torch that will not consume me
Like a naked women who lays
an empty vessel of skin
before me, just flesh, no seed...
I've eaten the apple whole now
just its core left
Poison
The Black wishing me naive enough
to eat them also
For me to degenerate
and for my body to be their soil
to rise from,
Oh simple
and selfish life...
I ate the skin
saw the core and its ambitions
to take me
enjoyed the flesh and disregarded the heart.
I see my fear
and understand it keeps me alive.
...but I hear
If you slowly eat the posion
dose your self with intention
Your appeal to it, strengthens
Your appetite for it, grows
Your abilty to harness it, balence...
I hear your heart beat
pacing frantically untrained
I can relate with it, but only with memories.
I am steady,
Calm
ready to take the storm
in strides
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem