Life is a flower with many thorns but its beauty still persists, even in harshest of times and though it is lovely, it has an end like every living thing…
Is life so empty and purposeless?
Like an arid long and limitless,
Where blood and drink dries like sand,
and every heart becomes a rock,
with iron grip on empty souls;
and every shadow seems so grand,
like a flower in a barren land;
but its verdures are poisoned thorns,
and with pain its scent is adorned.
O cursed soul! Look not from there,
Blind are you, if you glimpse no light,
For how can, in that wasted land,
Bloom a flower with petals bright?
Your heart is with plague beset,
Cast away that unpleasant sight!
And from my eyes behold this bud,
That in splendor can dare the moon,
and in fragrance can set you mad.
but look at those prickly forms,
that rest besides its passive heart,
and yet do you see its splendor changed?
But of this flower you see mere thorns,
And not look at how its petals dance,
Even when time is with pain adorned.
Unveil your eyes and see life change,
from seed to bud to flower to tree,
and then to dust devoid of pain.
But still your thought remains unfree,
encaged inside this splendid plain;
So face the truth in its face:
Life may be a lovely flower,
but still its end is fixed indeed;
For life was in mortality made,
So do not expect an immortal shade.
The Poet: Arkane
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.