there's a old oak tree.
withered bruised.
rocking reeling.
it's leaves rot.
it's dying with nothing to prove.
a green apple bares naked.
all shiny and green.
firm for the picking.
the old oak tree just wants to be a tree stump.
yet I wander deep.
just to taste sweet.
yet I climbed the tree.
it's branches gave into me.
I took the apple.
I bit a chunk of it.
savoring the sour then sweet.
knowing loneliness only calls to me.
so I sat at the roots.
the dark clay was soft and firm.
I longed for love.
as the oak tree has had its turn.
yet it rocked and reeled.
the secrets of the oak tree.
the taste of the green apple.
as I sat there wondering what's meant for me.
knowing it's was time to let the old tree die.
and follow what was meant for me.
©darkmocha
D