Erroneous Fruit Poem by nicholas chapman

What is this thing we see like weird fruit on our trees,
Hedges fields and roadways, filled with the objects of our lives,
Strange shapes on the beach, odd colours in the pools, gathering after the tide.
Looking so miss matched amongst the greens and browns of our beautiful beach,
Plastic bottles and bags, colours from every mixture of our life's spectrum,
All looking like strange alien flowers, or offerings from some other dimension.
Tins that contained drinks, designed to fulfil some insatiable thirst,
An additive or chemical to keep up the flow, all from the very first taste.
Little children running around like headless chickens from the affects,
The outcome of a quick reward, or the purchase of a desire fulfilled.
With the build up of yet more rubbish to bury somewhere, taxing us all.
The pollution reaching the furthest lands and oceans that the eyes can see,
Ominously hanging, floating, or just waiting, never decaying multiplying the scar.
Oh sweet lord what is this erroneous fruit we see in our lives,
Like gardens planted by alien beings they hang from anything they can,
Gathering as if to place there roots, or trail like some diseased climbing plant.
What is this thing we see, like strange fruit or weird flowers within our world.
Thorn like with no season, no connection with nature yet, there it is for all to see.