An apple, bobbing up and down
in a vast, sparkling, sea of regret.

The sky, a piercing turquoise blue
devoid of clouds, offering no escape.

The water, reflecting on the smooth side
of an empty cavern.
Its image sharp, like the polished edge
of a knife.

The tendrils of a wave
break through the illusion.
The creation of a distorted prism,
a fragmented void.

More waves slash through like a sword.
And the apple finally gives in
to the deep songs of the sea.

Sinking down, bubbles forming on the surface,
the idyllic image breaks
into a thousand tiny ripples.

© Poetry.com