Over
I guess that’s it.
The last apple
Lies bruised,
Mourned, once cherished,
Fading,
In the basin of my memories.
Rotting,
Its changing colour,
And shape
Soon to be unrecognizable,
Miss-remembered,
Until its nothing it once was,
And then
Returns to nothing.
Copyright © Chris Grundy | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment