Bruised Fruit

To herself she is
a bruised fruit,
moulding on the side,
passing through the stages
of corrosion and decay.

A spare fruit,
spoiling in the calm,
sitting on the lips
of thankless oblivion.

A ruined fruit,
rotting with the times,
Awaiting validation
as an item of consumption.

A wasted fruit,
aging past its use
withering in the light
of unrequited love.

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Comments 8 comments

myownworld profile image

myownworld 7 years ago from uk

I love your poems....they really have such an impact on one! this one conveyed a sense of despondency (like 'wasted' time) so well. thank you for sharing with us.

Don W profile image

Don W 7 years ago Author

Thanks myownworld. I don't know why but I find my poems always veer towards the melancholy. Maybe I should set myself the challenge of writing a 'happy' poem. Stretch myself a bit lol. Thanks for your comment.

Dolores Monet profile image

Dolores Monet 7 years ago from East Coast, United States

Hey, that's me! Sorry, only kidding. It's very sad and a great comment on how we view older women.

Don W profile image

Don W 7 years ago Author

Thanks Dolores. It is sad, even moreso when a woman feels this of herself.

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Beth37 3 years ago

Um, that was awesome. I had not even hoped it would be impressive, but it really was.

Don W profile image

Don W 3 years ago Author

Thanks Beth. Women are beautiful. It amazes me when you think you are not.

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Beth37 3 years ago

We have issues. :)

Akriti Mattu profile image

Akriti Mattu 21 months ago from Shimla, India

You're a lovely poet :-)

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