Infinite Times

The fruit that fell, standing up
It dusted off the rotten sweat
Cleaning its bloody filled body
Walking on ground, it wobbled away its battered taste
Staggering, trying to regain feet on solid ground
Words were not said, as it passed by the bar scene
Silence received, mouths wide open
The fruit that fell seeking the wranglers of its neck
An angel of death bringing back the lost
The hideous foul smell carrying with it
Misunderstood even after the sight of death
Absorbing all the rainbows, an absence of nothing
O, lord let all the pain wash away
The fruit that fell, standing up
Without tears, tearing away its gash ridden holes
A pain that was surely definite
Our freedom to the times of infinite