Metamorphosis

The forbidden fruit, wanted by all
Inscribed with nobs to keep balance on the ever-tumultuous earth.
The stem yearns for the tree, the source of life.
The sharp sugary scent seduces,
Promising a nibble of rebellion.
Oh the sweet sacrifice it entices.
Ripened by the glorious sun,
A well designed product of Mother Nature
Created by the hand, for the hand (the palm that is)
Ready for flight,
Descending,
Tumbling through new territory,
And with a
Thud. The grass welcomes this new friend.
The harvest is ready.

Arriving, examining the would-be delight:
Bruised skin, distorted markings,
The color of dirty car oil, of no good.
Separated.
Tossed into the unwanted pile,
Wobbling, shaking in a new home.
Shipped off to the factory:
Peeling of its dimpled flesh,
Stripped down until no longer recognizable.
Smashed.
Juiced, and used.
The syrupy concoction weighed down by the added chemicals-
Preservatives, vitamins, artificial by-products
Mask the flavor that will never be reclaimed.
The kid-friendly packaging disguises
The broken fruit within.





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