Lilies... purest of all petals...
Gone, the sluggish flow...
Roots ironically still sweeping the river bed... nourishing...
Isn't it a illusion, a deceiving one?
The scar never heal, a silver lining embed its permanence - 'healed'
like lilies, supported by its roots...
like a sunflower to the sunny beams...
scorching hot, harming its face.... Charcoal black, bursting with seeds...
Rustling and rattling the emptiness in the dark...
Fragrance from the lilies..faded...mild... but unforgettable???
Does it have one at all... sensory illusion...
where's the layers of paintings that paint it a pure pinkish proof...
Where i see, more white than pink, smattering mud, fine thorns in abundance...
that's where my soul pricked itself...
sealed by the silver line of the moonlight...
healed only in the presence of darkness...
torn during a bright day...
Therefore, you see a lily with its stem mangled
petals soaked in the swampy water it loathes so much
drained of pinkness
pale
not even the dew
could rest....
The lily choked, gulped helplessly...
till its twilight...
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