While Judging My Own Poem

Can an earthquake judge its own tears of fury and frustration Can a sunlight assess the black stains on a rose, its creation I don't know precisely but as my eyes move up and down my poem I myself am almost lost into a prose where no river is flowing I started with the metaphor of the letter alpha With the intention of crisscrossing to omega In between your hands and feet got entangled in the bush on the hills So much so that I now find the poem going haywire Why so happened, I feel it's better not to  inquire further Even so, a few connoisseurs happened to taste the flavor Feebly radiating from the apples most of which looked stale The cracked crimson, yellow and green were growing pale Still the few likes made me bold enough to keep out of the rain and hail that had broken out while I read the 'also ran' poem with no distinct course leading to the desired omega I read it once again alert to the erratic enjambment Rated it 'honorable mention' No, the apples have started gathering fungus I deleted honorable mention Dated 25 March 2019