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.
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