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Poetry
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| Apple of My Eye | |
| By lyrikal_myrikal | ||||||
| 23 April 2007 | ||||||
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This apple that I live in, Is rotten through and through. Skin is black, the flesh is gone, There's nothing we can do. Or so they say, the lookers in, Black ties, slicked hair, and polished shoes, Assume there's maggots deep within: "Theres nothing here to use" While the taste makes me contort my face, A ten times dailly ritual. I find these views a complete disgrace, Though i doubt the feelings mutual. Try and keep it from your sight, You won't hear a word from me, But take a look, and then a bite, You'll be surprised just what you see. For deep within the festered skin, Despite the stench and look, Despite the maggots not so thin, The seeds lie in their nook. Time and rot's effects have shown, They're no longer quite as bright. But don't think they will never grow, Us Walsall-ers will always fight!
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