This Sweet Fruit
Grown in a garden, unhardened but fingers or tongues that want to taste the forbidden fruit still growing there.
Vines of envious lust latch high around the neck of morals and respect and choke what is not its own.
Tantalizing, the fruit is, taunting they say. But the fruit did not want to be eaten, the fruit wanted to bloom. Blossom full in bounty from its own bosom. But that is now for not.
The garden is left burst open and ramshackle as worms and flies pick over the putrid remains of a once perfectly pretty garden.
What a peculiar sight, a rotten garden, blamed for its own demise.
YOU ARE READING
The Aggravated Mind
PoezieEmbracing a new pattern or rhythm of life. Taking on new ways of thinking and washing away the old. A sweet love of verse and song. My heart will go on. *Author's note* Note will be random insight to the poems of this book.
