The Heart Tells Tales

I sit beneath the branches' bough, Apples fall like teardrops now. Red and ripe, they hit the ground, In silence, they make not a sound.

The tree is full, the harvest rich, Yet in my heart, an aching itch. For love, I waited, day by day, Hoping you'd come back to stay.

I watched the apples as they fell, Their sweetness lost, a bitter spell. I starved beneath the ample tree, The fruit of love, a memory.

You promised me you'd soon return, Yet here I sit, my heart to burn. The pain of waiting, all too real, A wound that time could never heal.

The apples rotted, one by one, Underneath the autumn sun. As I withered, so did they, Love's ghostly whispers swept away.

My heart, it broke a thousand times, With every apple's quiet chime. A feast of plenty, all around, Yet in my sorrow, I was bound.

I starved for you, my love, my life, Enduring endless inner strife. The apples fell, the seasons turned, But still, for you, my soul, it yearned.

Now here I lie beneath the tree, The apples gone, just memories. In the end, I could not bear, To live without you, lost somewhere.

Artist/Poet: Anna van Tassell Dimensions: 8000 x 12000 px