just as fruit becomes plump
and ripe in the sun and dew
with a sweetness only
harnessed at the best of times
it must fall
down the depths
into the unknown,
the dark and dirty and mournful,
where its seeds crack
as its flesh rots
leaving a bitter taste
unlike its
previous sweetness while
the dew and sun
fade away as does the purity
of the fruit
but
the pain gives way to tiny green
tendrils, squirming and fighting
their way to the top of the
soil where they will poke their heads out
and take a hopeful gaze at the heavenly
light to drive a stake
into a new and sunny future
sweeter than before
