Picking the Last White Lilac

I stand at the edge of my dying Labyrinth of garden,

wishing for the pardon

but it’s denied to everyone.

We are all forced to move on;

The Hourglass doesn’t stop even for the sun.

 

I start to walk amongst the dying flowers.

The cold hard recidivism that plagues this isn’t sympathizing.

So we must be defiant to the end,

But I’m just a boy who wont be coming back to this trend.

I trudge past the failing crocuses.

A contusion to my youthful focuses.

 

The Candle’s flame I hold is a lie,

Promising me forever a flame.

It really is only a light of unapologetic apathy,

Ready to disappear at any turn of the twisted labyrinth.

I can read the signs.

The rosebuds are all sick in their lines.

 

I stand in broken flowers,

Watching the winged Hourglass pass the hours.

The staff I clutch helps rest the frightened powers.

Half way is the brindle Hawthorn.

I am half way there.

I don’t want to leave,

But I can’t be what I am any longer.

 

What I had been perfect, it was beautiful;

A garden full of life.

Kissing this goodbye is the hardest part of letting go.

I don’t know what is going to be my foe,

Or what my savior will be.

Up ahead the end is only what I see.

At the end of the crescent it sits like a key,

To move me on the next half.

The Flame of the candle flickers.

The Hourglass sand is almost gone.

There is not another-this is the only one.

 

White Lilac, White Lilac,

Why can’t you live and keep me as my youth?

I’ll always live like this forever.

I want to stay for one more tomorrow.

If only I could live it out again,

But now it’s all another fading memory.

No longer will I be the “me” I used to be.

 

I reach out to do the inevitable,

And sense the fiery plumage in the tree.

Smiling I pick the only White Lilac.

It withers away to brown falling into Death’s lock.

The flame disappears.

The Hourglass falls to its side.

 

And I can’t see it-I feel it.

The bird flies across to me, as I grow cold.

It pulls me into its fiery mold,

Taking the White Lilac from me.

No longer the child,

I rise up out of the ashes.

I’m back in my Labyrinth of garden,

Full of life it is again.

 

White Lilac, White Lilac

“Goodbye,” I say and laugh,

                  And I grin,

                           And smile again.

I may not be the same,

But eventually (I know now)

I will be back there with you.

 

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