Apples 'n Oranges

An apple that wakes
In final repose
Oft listens to that
Which the orange
Makes a last harmony
Of risen voices
And boundless dreams
Of the rain that
Whispers short longings
For the realm forgotten.
Crimson skin crawls
Away from murky
Glances with weight
While the harvest
Of ancient stories
Rots in eternal
Slumber.

1 March 2005