He Murdered My Apple

I asked a friend to choose a word or phrase to write a poem about, and they gave me "He murdered my Apple"  Ended up writing two, a goofy rhyming one followed by a melodramatic one.

Cold Red Vegicide

He murdered my apple in the night,

So ripe and so red it was my delight,
He wanted a king’s ransom, but I could not pay,

He had stolen my sweet pomegranate, earlier that day,

My poor kiwis had already gone rotten,

As my last pear sat in the corner, forgotten,

My grapes were nothing but raisins,

Left out too long for special occasions,

I offered him a shriveled orange, and an over ripe banana,

But he was no fool, having grown up in Savanah,

So he sliced and he diced, into the blender it went,

And now my poor apple is a condiment

Orchard in Winter

My orchard lies barren in the unforgiving frost

Once laden with the fruit of my love

My heart once dripped with the sweet passions

Like an apple melting over the hot pan of his desire

All sweet cinnamon, and sugar in the scorching heat

He devoured my love, insatiable in his hunger

Until winter set in, and his eyes wandered to greener gardens

And new forbidden fruit