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The Fruit Tree
(Satisfaction is a state of mind hard to come by. No matter how hard we struggle, how strong our will, the one true dream seems too far-fetched. Being content with the present prize is never a possibility, for the human heart always craves the impossible).
The day’s beam beats down warm
On dew gems frozen still,
Titter of birds rouses the dawn,
Atop this moldy, slumbering hill.
I meander about unconcerned
Of worldly wealths, of youthful yen
To this sagely haven, brazen paradise
Save a bare basket beside.
Centered in seclusion, a tree beckons
Loaded bough humbly bowed
With Nature’s gold atop its limbs,
Hanging low, hanging heavy
In wait to tumble off its perch
To waiting hands, to craving maws,
To entreat them a tang of ecstasy
Seldom freely relinquished.
I, too, am mesmerized by
The mirage of fortune usurped.
With flailing arms, leaping feet,
I toss those low hung fruits,
Hoard them and breathe a sigh
Of peace and joy again.
The earned fortune now rests defeated
In my wicker basket beside.
My happiness dies an easy death
When I spot twin plums, though, afar
Hanging by zenith’s peak
Teasingly swaying, ruthlessly teasing
Tired limbs sore from struggle
Unleashed few moments prior
For ripe fruits now rotten good,
For slighter prize that sits beside.
Flinching in pursuit, I soar higher still
Flapping frenzied arms in zest
For the sweeter trove waving away
In the fragrant breeze of morning wake.
Victor, I, seize luck once more
My basket crammed with fruits of toil
I deign to move on again
Free, at last, of chains of desire.
Alas, the reprieve was never to be
The juiciest of plums seems a tiny speck
Flickering in blazing rays
Of a noon sun, taunting in its glory.
Salivating in avarice, I try a final time
To climb and capture all of kin
That hold the sap of secrets
Of contentment, elusive ever to be.
Time ticks away with long shadows
I refuse to quench hunger throttling strong
My sense of reason, my vision, decision.
The collected bounty melts to rot,
Raising alarms of efforts lost,
To blindness, greed and folly
That lead me on to purpose or peril
I mutely ponder lying down.