Soon after I first stopped attending church, I wrote a poem to express what I was feeling. I called it "The Orchard." Within six months, I had plucked myself out of the damn orchard. I have a blog with more of my story, leavingthegarden.blogspot.com. Stop by anytime! :)
In the rancid sweet I smell it -
WASTE. And for what!
The evidence is there for all to see:
Shady grasses littered with pits half-naked,
half-clothed in fruit flesh
oozing and bleeding, smashed
like a hundred broken hearts.
I pay homage in my mind to the fruit.
Once it clung determinedly among the branches,
withstood each enticing, tugging tendril of wind,
persisted amidst the nibblings of lustful enemies.
Each fruit was once the jealous guardian of her own future,
willing with all might against premature plucking.
Time passed and the fruit became ripe,
some overly so.
Skins once bright and taut began to wrinkle and spot.
Stems pulled against branches with unnatural heaviness...
The fruit fell.
Some blame the harvesters that never came,
or came too late,
but as I mourn so much goodness wasted!
I begin to hate
OK, I'm a little late with a reply here, no excuse but I had not been on this forum for many months and am now back. I very much enjoyed your poem!!! Do you write poetry often? I ask because I am a poet of sorts. Have one book of poetry and am finishing my 2nd.