The orchardist held the apple tight,
Staring deep into its being,
As if it had something more to show him than its rotten skin.
Unwilling to admit it to its predestined fate,
He first peeled the apple to view its innards.
Unsatisfied by the inedible flesh,
He continued:
Deeper and deeper,
Until his hands were coarse and knife dull.
Finally upon reaching the core,
His anger released itself in a swift action,
As he hurled the apple core towards the wall.
Quickly though, he ran towards the remaining mush.
Grasping at anything, hoping to get his apple back.
However, it would not be,
Nor was it ever so,
its rancidness was sown in its creation
before I started writing
what I call
"poetry."
Whatever standards that
aspires to,
I don’t meet or greet.
My favorite Disney characters,
are the Walt Disney villains,
the cartoons whom
I will never talk to,
laugh, or banter with.
Cruella Deville:
you make me smile
and wish I was
your partner in crime.
Captain Hook:
let me be your bedfellow,
and curl your mustache
with my tongue.
Show me your
rancidness,
Scar, and let me
show you mine.
Jeremy Irons,
I am your
suckling pig,
smoked, and ready.
Ursula, you are
the queen
of my heart.
My woman of six
tentacles,
and two arms
equals eight.
Sing, and sway
your hips
and I will sacrifice
my voice to you,
any day.
I love the child in me
more than the scraps
(the rest).
Is that “as good
as it gets?”
Showered in shoddy kisses;
not quite like the years of past.
Nibbling the taste of rancidness;
A foul odor of a breath you cast.
Where lies the once masculinity,
lined with a musky delicious scent?
Is our body chemistry no longer one;
another lover this scent was leant?
My kisses are still sweet and tasty;
my lips are as full as buds in bloom….
Yet each time I press them to yours,
I can still smell the scent of doom.
They ask me how I can live as such?
Troublesome it is, to be in love so much;
This “illusion of love” lives only in mind,
for a moment, I felt his dreamy touch.
The conquered land is eroding.
The driven snow is melting
Because the blue flame is burning,
Probing through the rampart,
Penetrating the fortress
And pillaging the village.
The mighty are falling
And the weaker being ravished
Trying to kick the pricks,
But unguided passions
With shortlived victories
Violently possess! Then dispose.
As the blue flame wanes,
So goes the tyranny...
Until morning.
Rancidness, rancor, degradation
And loneliness remain
After the land is trampled.
After the snow is defiled,
There's a want for nothing,
A need for everything:
Love, hate, forgiveness, revenge.
Then a cry for childhood
Extending for knowledge of this hope
Reaches without taking hold,
So the four remain
Until the four are gained;
And the land still erodes.
The snow still melts
Because the blue flame burns.
It yet probes.
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