Rotted Fruit

I sat staring at the rotted fruit Smelt the fetid citric scent The blackened bananas And mould covered plums The soggy pears say their time is done And as I sit reflecting on the fruit I think of how this seems an apt metaphor For me and you Once ripe and delicious in truth But now past its best And leaving behind an acrid smell Of rotten essences and an ugly sight No memory now of how beautiful it was when all was ripe And how the colours adorned this house this home That now is just a building in which I dwell alone.