Since the dawn of man,
the apple has been eaten,
divested from the garden,
ingested with poison,
turned into a tool of wickedness
and sweet hot apple pie.
Five black magical seeds
hidden in white flesh,
wrapped tightly in red skin
as if to hold the magic in.
From blossom to fullness
the apple inspired.
The first fruit taken by woman
twisted into a chewed core
of what she was before
the pomegranate transformed,
forever more to be
The gravity of the situation
should not be understated,
this rose tinted fall of man,
ripened full to fall again,
Seeding in Issac Newton,
a scientist of notable influence,
universal gravitation and a deeper
understanding of planetary motion.
But for one time in our history
when the apple was overrated.
Saint Steve had just one job,
to bring the apple to a mob
of hungry eyes, seeking evolution
to feed those idle minds.
Man, still looking to be free
from the boundary of a garden,
still hungry for more, took a bite
and thought they were enlightened.
Instant answers, faking knowledge,
with 1000 songs in every pocket.
Now we know how far tradition went,
by the lives that were spent
in slavery, producing icons
of poison or liberation,
good or evil, manipulation
for generations to pin hope upon.
An uprising of some faith or other,
people could globally get together
and network to unpick, to overthrow
the wickedness in their pockets.
Searching thousands of poisoned lies,
for a good old recipe for apple pie.
Now these apples didn’t lie rotting,
or seeding a new generation of life.
These apples were worshiped in temples
of profit, mimicking divine connection,
and rather than getting to the core,
promoted self-ejection from the garden.
The ancient temples fell to ruin, the world
was choked with plastic boxes and cartons
that would never decompose. They remained
with all the data, so we could finally know
why the world fell, and all the people left
their apple icons to litter the global garden.