Centered in seclusion, a tree beckons
Loaded bough humbly bowed
With Nature’s gold atop its limbs
Hanging low, hanging heavy
In wait to tumble off its perch
To waiting hands, to craving maws,
To entreat them a tang of ecstasy
Seldom freely relinquished.
I, too, am mesmerized by
The mirage of fortune usurped
With flailing arms, leaping feet,
I pluck them all low hung fruits,
Hoard them and breathe a sigh
Of peace and joy again.
My earned fortune now rests defeated
In the wicker basket beside.
My happiness dies an easy death
When I spot twin plums, though afar,
Hanging by zenith’s peak
Teasingly swaying, ruthlessly teasing
Tired limbs sore from struggle
Unleashed moments prior
For ripe fruits now rotten good,
For slighter prize that sits beside.
Flinching in pursuit, I soar higher still
Flapping frenzied arms in zest
For sweeter trove waving away
In the fragrant breeze of morning wake.
Victor, I seize luck once more,
My basket crammed with fruits of toil,
I deign to move on again
Free, at last, of chains of desire.
Alas, the reprieve was never to be
As the juiciest plum still, is the tiny speck
Flickering in blazing rays
Of a noon sun, taunting in its glory.
Avarice awakened, I try one final time
To climb and capture all of kin
That hold the sap of secrets
Of contentment, elusive ever to be.
Time creeps away with long shadows,
I refuse the hunger throttling strong
My sense of reason, my vision, decision.
The precious bounty turns to rot,
Raising alarms of efforts lost
To blindness, greed and folly
That lead me on to purpose or peril
I mutely ponder defeated, lying down.