Life of Two Apples
Freshly born apple,
cradled in untouched snow.
Watch as its smooth skin crunches open,
quiet sweetness and sharp bitter flesh
all consumed.
Until it meets birth again—
black beady eyes
anticipating return to the ground.
A neighboring apple,
fallen upon iron-filled soil.
Infested with inescapable flies
that swarm all over.
Its bruised face—
unadmired, untouched.
Halting all mouths from nearing
its own unique composition.
Too busy swatting away the pests
to appreciate its life and death.
Though praises for these words of mine
quench immediate flames of explosive frustration,
jealousy of circumstance
is a much harder beast to tame
into acceptable expression.