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.

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

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?