Lies are apples slowly ripening on their trees,
Sugar coated in produce of honeybees,
Not one appreciating their nourishing paste,
Handwritten and penned, embedded and laced.
Yet everyone savours its juice,
Masking itself in the blanket of health.
It is squeezed to reintroduce,
A faithless avatar of stain and wealth.
Lies are the fruit and the truth is the seed,
Nobody wants it, if eaten considered need.
A small juveunile will bloom, descendants will shoot,
But at what expense, Granny’s tribute?
mayawrites 
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