Holding an apple,
Feels the same as holding
Someone's soul
These days.
It is living, pure, and it has this skin,
That uncovers either sweetness
Identity of gifted or paid off personality,
Or unfolds the bitterness,
Marching causes behind the name of chastity,
Instead.
It makes me sad to see,
To hear them say,
To smell them whisper
"You are rotten,
Change Yourself".
At that moment, I fail,
Feel I might have fallen,
From the point when, in fact,
Someone else comes up to them
And judges:
"For calling them, remind you, Rotten,
Your soul must be, apparently, a Rotten Apple".
I am lying down, broken,
But hands still tighten up,
Those souls and apples.
The reality comes in simple,
When I observe that the world
Becomes that true basket,
Where, if something, rotten,
Whether you are fully selfless
Or strongly selfish soul,
You will be acting righteous,
Judging them carefully, assured.
Now, is your soul sweet,
Or
Occurs to be so bitter?
