The Apple

I wrote this piece during a tumoultous period of my life, which include but was not limited to loosing my virginity, falling in love fratricide and addiction

I have always had A love/hate

Hate, playing the lead role of course,

Relationship with the works of, Shakespeare 

Oh great and wise Shakespeare,  

Who the cultured folk of our world do so love to patronize.

Perhaps, credit is due? I suppose we all have critics. 

But Lo and behold I've forgotten the why! Why? Because he's English? 

No reason enough that may be. No I find, or found him rather, 

Rather insufferable, God but does he go on and on. About things most trivial,

To the point where my bones would have long turned to dust and the stars, 

Those celestial Titans,

Would have burned out, fluttered away into the abyss of existence,

Long before Shakespeare ever got to the f*****g point. 

But Shakespeare yes he is genius For saying what we all know,

Just in the most cryptic and indecisive ways possible.

And we love it because it's so apropos. 

Simple minds and easy pleasures are so our specialty. 

But do I fancy a few of his lines? Those oh so cliche lines we highlight.

Perhaps I'll pluck one from the ocean of material. 

Much like one would pluck an apple from the orchard. 

Clever because said line associates quite fondly with apples. 

Taken from a midsummer night's dream, the line "Sink in the apple of his eye."

Does Shakespeare mean his pupil? Or does he refer to the race of Venus? 

I tend to think he means a woman, has man ever done a thing? 

Blinked or drew a breathe that was not in the name of some woman? 

The apple of my eye, so fitting a compression.

Where there are many shades of one there are 10 fold of shapes and sizes, and Flavors.

A tragedy it is that women are apples. 

A sad fate to be an apple. 

For a few brief planes of time they are ripe. Full and perfect.

From years of gathering up memories and pains and turning it all to sugar and fruit.

The apples that is, 

I mean to say, what apples do to the Suns rays, 

Women do with life and it's moments. 

And there comes a time when our lady apple is ripe and full with life and sweet love. But one must time it right.

Too soon and the apple is not ready and she will wither and die after being discarded For the insects to pick apart what's left. 

Too long and her skin will wither and bruise.

Yes she may then be put in a compost heap to rot with other forgotten fruits or Maybe her seeds will grow into trees and create more apples and acorns.

Hurray for the squirrels I suppose. 

But what of the ripe apple plucked from the tree of innocence and put on the clock To death. 

Who does she let taste of her? The first who comes along?

No!?

Then who? 

One must resort to the old math technique of choosing at random with some small Semblance of guidance to judge. 

They like to surmise it with "guess and check" poor tidings for young miss apple. 

For if the first is not the one to share all her fruit with then how many bites do they Get? 

There is only so much apple after all and she put so much time and effort to make it.

 

And now look! 

She already has a bite out of her! 

Who wants a bitten apple? 

The more bites she has the less people want her. 

She can try to hide it but before too long it's an uphill battle. 

Sure there are those who will take a second bite, even after someone else. 

But those are never the best people,

They don't usually stick around long enough to finish her anyway. 

Then one day a boy came along. 

He's never had an apple before. 

He has seen plenty around but he knew it was wrong to take a bite and walk away, None of the apples ever offered. 

He had seen other apples, ones in the process of being eaten,

But you can't just go up and take a bite out of someone else's apple, 

That's rude and people definitely won't take it well. 

But this boy really wanted a taste, it's all anyone ever talks about. 

Sure he could pick up one no one wanted anymore,

But that's gross and his parents taught him better. 

Well his mom did, he thinks his dad ate too many of those apples. 

Maybe that's why he died, 

Maybe he felt bad about all the bites he took and could never give back. 

Maybe too many bites just kills you. Maybe apples are poison.

One day this boy and his friend were playing one of their favorite games,

His friend had brought an apple, shinny and beautiful. 

The friend would tell him about these apples and how good they tasted. 

He always had plenty of apples. 

This went on for a while and the boy still couldn't find an apple of his own. 

One day his friend brought a different kind of Apple. 

One the boy had never seen before.

This apple looked so full of memories and light, 

The boy thought he might die if he didn't have at least one bite. 

But he loved his Friend and would never steal from him. 

His Friend brought the special Apple over many times,

She even played their game with them. 

The Friend would sometimes fall asleep from all the fun they had, 

The Boy and The Apple really got along. 

One day the friend fell asleep and the boy asked the Apple, 

"How did you get so full?"

He was happy hearing all about the light, 

She'd gathered in her few years,

The Boy could tell she also had a lot of pain. 

As far as the boy could see his friend had not taken any bites yet. 

So he asked her for a bite

She said no. 

She couldn't,

She was waiting for their friend to eat her.

At that the boy was ashamed for what he had done. 

Yet The Apple was nice, she understood, and they were friends. 

But The Boy remembered how he had seen his friend eating all kinds of apples. 

So later, after The Apple went home and his friend had woken, 

The Boy asked, 

"What about that special Apple, our friend?" 

The Friend chuckled "Yes he liked that apple a lot, but he wasn't going to just eat That one Apple forever." 

Obviously it wouldn't last anyway. 

This angered The Boy "He's wasting you!" he cried to The Apple later "I, would cherish You, you'd be the only Apple I'd ever eat!" He Promised. 

She felt bad, The Apple.

Maybe she was afraid The Friend would soon be done with her. 

The boy could see what she was feeling,

He couldn't help himself,

He took a bite,

And 

It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. 

What else in life could ever compare to her taste? 

She let him have a few bites and they were happy. 

Then The Boy saw The Friend and The Apple, sharing a bite. 

The Boy asked The Apple

"How she could do that?"

"I've been waiting for him to finish me" She cried.

"For so long before you stole that bite." 

She told The Boy the rest of her belonged to Their Friend.

At that the boy was lost. 

He was bad, he took to the darkness.

That darkness which surrounds all men,

And he drank it, 

Swallowed it, 

So much of it. 

Too much of it. 

For after tasting of her light, 

Which she had grown from life, all was dark. 

Or grey, Forlorn and sullen.

If The Apple had chosen the boy,

He wouldn't have eaten her until she was gone,

Devoid of fruit and light. 

He would have studied to learn the magics of science. 

He would have chopped all that great forest we call life down.

He would have worked to provide for her, 

All that which our materialistic world begs of us. 

With this new knowledge of science, the wood of life and the currency of the world He would build a new land. 

Different from what they all knew. 

Where he would make new light for his apple. 

Light more beautiful then she could ever think being inside her. 

But our boy and our apple are not of that world. 

The live in the real one where they will both wither away into dust,

And then to nothing. 

Shakespeare always did love a quick and tragic ending.