Apples

I hold an apple in my palm

the silence surrounding,

the temptation is astounding,

it is hard to stay calm.

In the sun it sweetly glistens,

dark red, joyous to see,

yet I sense foreboding at its tree

as the silence listens.

What harm could come from its sweet taste?

Beauty holds no venom!

A dark presence about like a phenom

and so I don't decide in haste.

I feel perfection in its skin,

my choice it does prolong

and yet it somehow smells so wrong,

its juices oozing in sin.

Here, it still sits in my hand

like a grenade of war

destructive in its sweet galore,

it is gruesome yet grand.

I hold an apple in my palm

as the snake's seducing voice

hastens me into making a choice.

I hold an apple in my palm.

And I drop it to my feet.