An Apple Core

It is now my time to rot.

Fallen down from the tree

Well before I’m ready

And at the root of the plant

With those who had

Fallen before me.

My skin, so hydrated,

Now withers and turns to leather.

A simple bruise on my exterior

Lasts permanently.

A man has found the tree

And took a bite out of me.

He tore me apart from the core,

He tasted my insides and left them

Lying apart all over the weeds,

To be exposed and now decays.

A juice so sweet before

Now is as sour and bitter

As I grow older.

The tree now waits for the next winter,

To abandon its next apple

And leave it to fend for itself,

The same way it has for me,

And the cycle will continue,

The way it has for generations.