The pit was a core never seen
A treasure forsaken
Value forseen by one alone
Strange and powerful in its own demise
A ripe fruit, ready to be picked and eaten
Ah, but there is more
A civil war rages beneath its fuzzy skin
Treatening to rot its honey
All the while examined closely
For flaws, for taste
Pricked by uncertainty and greif
Fermenting the succulent juices
To be left alone
A combination of self-relainace and pity
Rises up against the battle
Ah, the independant honeysuckle
Craving a bite of its own
Growing with fervor, with pride
With open eyes, with secret smile
Watching its decay take place
Knowing the outcome of the rotten core
Deception redefined
By the sweetest fruit
Becoming the sickest candy
Treasure unknown
Glory unrivaled
Offending mother nature
With its outstretched temptations
Ah, coming back to Eve's garden
And we see the angel of death approaching
Ready to pluck for the sacrifice
And the decomposing flower stretches its leaves up higher than the rest
Pulling its pistil up
To be noticed in its last glorious breath
And then falls...