The Apple

Good day, everyone. I have emerged from my shadowy lair today so as to venture back into the world of WordPress and share with you a poem of mine. It is not the happiest poem I’ve ever written, yet still there is hope within it. I actually started to write it on Christmas Eve last year (I wasn’t in the greatest mood over Christmas), but stopped after the first big paragraph because I wasn’t sure where I wanted the ‘story’ to go. Basically, I didn’t know whether I wanted a happy ending or a sad one. I left this poem for a while, and ended up finishing it on 22nd February. Is it a happy ending? Yes and no.


The Apple

© Jennifer K. Marsh 2014

Oft times I wonder how the oak tree bore
an apple
and not an acorn.

What a foreign little thing
this apple seems to be
among the acorns of the tree.
This apple will not sing the oak tree’s song.
This apple knows it will never belong.
But this makes the acorns stare,
knowing all too well the apple’s aware:
“What is it doing there?” the acorns say.
“Why won’t it go away?
Why won’t this apple simply fall?
On this tree it should not be bore!”
The apple fights back its tears, saying,
“I know I am not your peer –
I don’t know how I wound up here.
I wish more than all of you
that I could simply fall.
I wish I could plummet down and roll away,
’cause I can’t stand this anymore!
For so many years I’ve tried to sing your song,
but whenever I do it always sounds wrong.
I just don’t belong!
But what can I do?
Here I must stay,
for here I am bound,
until I grow old and rot away.
Oh, how I wish I could be on the ground –
maybe there some hope can be found!
Oh, what can I do?”

At this the acorns sneer,
just as the apple had feared;
why should the apple speak its heart
when the acorns wish to tear it apart?
What can this apple do
but endure the scorn of acorn spew?
The sun slowly sinks as the day passes by
and oh how this little apple cries
well away into the night
beneath the darkened eventide.
The endless sky leans down to paint
the apple black for its dark escape;
it has been kissed by the lips of death,
for time decrees its final breath.
And so while the acorns sleep
so soundly lost in visions deep,
the apple breaks away and falls
far below where the grass blades grow.
The apple lands, crashing with might,
splitting in two like its heart during life,
to reveal a centre so rife with seeds –
the seeds that were the roots of its dreams.
But now the apple halves roll away,
down the hill of a dawning day,
leaving behind the oak tree’s ways.

And time goes by, so steady and slow,
all the while these small seeds grow;
soon will stand the tallest tree
of apples, both red and green,
and blossom will burst for every dream
that times before had never seen!

Time has passed and now I stare
at all the apples way up there.

Oft times I wonder how the oak tree bore
an apple
and not an acorn.
Oft times I gaze at the apple tree
and whisper:
“Now you are free.”



Serious face for a serious question:

Do you often wonder how the oak tree bore an apple and not an acorn?

I know I do.


8 responses to “The Apple

  1. maybe I know why…
    maybe being surrounded with strife will make us introspective…
    maybe with a broadened perspective we find we have seeds of potential within…
    maybe experiencing cruelty makes us more compassionate…
    maybe the apple does fall far from the tree and we have influence to far places…
    maybe we should never give up hope…
    maybe we should never give up trying…
    maybe we should be hopeful…
    maybe grassy knolls will buffer our fall and be the seedbed for our future…
    hopefully 🙂

"What does your heart tell you?" - ToO, chpt. 32

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