Dead Flowers Poem by Not Long Left
Dead Flowers
Dead flowers,
that once floursished,
Sacrificed.
Severed from there source,
left to scorch,
under foriegn burning lights.
Placed in a vase,
half filled with purified water.
Admired for your perfurumed petals,
and striking red fingers.
Then discarded,
Once you withered.
All things must fade,
those that admire
just hurry the proccess along.
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4/24/2024 2:55:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Beauty fades, but as Oscar Wilde says, 'all men kill the thing they love'. We do speed up the death of beautiful things, be it a tiny flower or the whole environment. What a lovely portrayal, Vincent.