Plucked
It’s true
an apple
never falls
too far
from the Braeburn tree,
that’s just how Gravity works
unless,
it's picked
and carried away
by Someone
who stopped to appreciate
the potential
within its center,
or if by some miracle
it catches the right roll
on the right day
during favorable weather,
and it continues onward
until reaching the very end
of a rugged and winding footpath.
It is only then
that the destiny
of it rotting
under the same branches
as it’s siblings
will be averted,
and only then
will it become more
than a moldering corpse
atop a grassy grave,
like the fermenting tree
that bore it,
but instead,
be celebrated
for the raw sweetness
contained
just under its skin.
What then?
It's on odd silver lined
days like today
when I can hardly hold
two mercurial thoughts,
never mind pen
two wild sentences,
that I truly appreciate
the perceptiveness
of a simple
poetic
challenge
to bare
something
that everyone
(in sitting)
painfully
regrets.
Sometimes,
we find
the cage
vacant.
09.11.2023
with a dash of salt~ challenge @sushishi
Same difference
Is it death
that stalks me
daily
slipping into sight
just beyond
vıew so that
I jerk my
head
again and again
to catch
a glimpse
of eyes
or hands
or distorted
visages
that melt
into
shadows
and light?
Or is it
merely floaters
drifting
in a sea
of vitreous fluid
bending and
twisting
the world
my nearly sightless
eyes
barely see,
coloring
outside
the lines
skewing
what is
into
what
could
be?