An old flower blooms one last time,
gloomy and shriveled, rid of all shine
guilty and withered, because of his crime

he cut off his leaves
for relief, he believed
woe and grief, all he received
stuck in the web his madness weaved
leaving the grass forever bereaved

as life has waned,
and sorrow rained,
the flower was laid
and forever remained
in a place preordained
where it has decayed

among the emerald blades
where the old existence fades
a youthful peony grows
wondering in the shades
where the old one goes
a tell-tale of how he wades
is all the youngling knows

she dreams of places high
somewhere above the rain
the old one smiling in the sky
released from all his chains

in a palace of purity
reached by maturity
with absolute surety
of security from obscurity

but in the passing of time
the little peony's mind
has slowly come to align
with a truth very malign

the old one has walked
the path of no return
the parting couldn't be balked
the truth had to be learned

it has made the peony crude
bigger and colder
wiser and shrewd
but as she grew older
disappointment ensued

now she knows the story
its tellers, and why it is told
the tales of so-called glory
about the passing of old

there sleeps a lake of tears
under the rainbow in her eye
within her soul depression sears
for all she was told was simply a lie





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