literature

The Fallen Fruit of the Tree

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Literature Text

Decisions. Decisions made, wise it may be, foolish it may be. Change whirled. Change needed? That was another world of debate.

Decisions. Decisions made in life. Decisions to seek life. Decisions to seek yourself, understand yourself, in order to live life.

It was confusing. Not knowing what you wanted. What would make you full with satisfaction? What would make you giddy with joy? What would make silent tears drip unseen?

Would it be too selfish of me, to indulge in my sense of loss?

Life flashes, like illusions, a blink of an eye. Young dreams, dreams of passion, of great deeds, of great fame, of great power, life’s temptations were countless.

With no doubt, reality is confronting. One can only be content with what is given.

Or did we have the decision, to face, to strive, to seek?

Why did it seem, I sought, but yielded nothing? Looking in the wrong place? Was it me, that didn’t seek with enough effort?

Had I complained, was this some kind of punishment?

Upon time, it seems as if, even my values had deserted me. What had left?

My faith, my hope in life?

Perhaps, upon this bare sheet of life, where I had tried, to spill, to scratch with ink, perhaps it was not for me to write upon.

Such thought came jarringly, dulling my senses. Was this a lesson, descended upon me? Was this a grace, was this abandonment? Was this to justify my irrevocable decision, or to prevent it? Eyes flickered, first time in life, with clarity.

"It is time... cleanse my soul."

Mercy wiggled in his tiny cage. Freedom he longed. A shadow loomed over him, it fuelled his determination.

Soon free.
At last.
Tipped, down into.
It raced.
Through the corridors of red.
Seeking the centre.
Thud. Completion.

Eyes froze. Staring upon the sky. Staring at the sunrise of the finest lights.

A book a title clutched in her hand, it was deep blue, rimmed with gold. It was a thin book, very, with only two pages.

The pages crackled as you lifted the cover. In fine printed letters it first wrote.

"It is dark, no moon, no light
Just darkness, a starless sky
The winds blow, the waves break
A single firefly passes by

Soon the firefly is gone
Leaving me in the darkest of nights
The tiny fly made me anticipate
A sunrise with the finest lights"

But behind these two pages, there was spidery writing scribbled, it beckoned, as if reviving the significant yet tiny image of the bug.

"It is empty, no dark, no light
Just hollow, blind, lost
The heart longs, the hand reaches
A single firefly passes by

It leaves me a fruit of the tree
A sunrise of the finest lights
The tiny fly made me anticipate
His understanding benevolent judgement."
© 2013 - 2024 TheBareSheet
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