Bleak

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fruit

In botany, a fruit is the seed-bearing structure in flowering plants that is formed from the ovary after flowering. Fruits are the means by which flowering plants (also known as angiosperms) disseminate their seeds. Edible fruits in particular have long propagated using the movements of humans and animals in a symbiotic relationship that is the means for seed dispersal for the one group and nutrition for the other; in fact, humans and many animals have become dependent on fruits as a source of food. Consequently, fruits account for a substantial fraction of the world's agricultural output, and some (such as the apple and the pomegranate) have acquired extensive cultural and symbolic meanings. In common language usage, fruit normally means the seed-associated … more »

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His eyes force open
He begs for them to close again
A futile notion
That he could ever conquer them
He would give anything
To sleep and be still for a week
He hears the starlings sing
Their song as fair as he is bleak
In flock the vultures
To gnaw and scratch at what is left
A twisted culture
To mock and scoff at the distressed
He wished he still had faith
That better days were yet to come
Living for cheap escape
Cause all the better days had been and gone
And what next now for the boy
Who sits alone beneath the dying tree
Bled dry is all the fruit
Not one last drop of nectar to be seen
The oak bore sweet delights
That kept him warm on lonely nights in filth
But now the juice runs dry
The branches and the flowers left to wilt
What better time, for him to meet the wandering eye
A potent weariness, disguised as pleasure; something just and wise
And thus, the plot's devised, to make his spirit level rise
The poor boy unaware, of his impending grim demise
First by the artful leaders, he'll be keenly goaded and chastised
Now comes the reverent chanting, these wicked men he'll idolise
Then comes the violent drowning, in the mud caked gutter he's baptised
And in his rotten core, the fruit he grew to love he'll now despise
What's reaped and sown is overgrown
Now after rain has fell
And o'er the trees my soul had flown
Now I can never tell
Of wretched lies and tall deceits
They claw away at flesh and meat
Down every corner, every street
They ring the final bell

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