WITHERING (An Original Poetry) DAY 84

We were water lilies
drowning in the dimensions of fairies
Scattered about the delta
like mushrooms on dying woods
like leeches in nocturnal provinces
exposed to the creaminess of the sunset
sipping nature's divine like an elixir of immortality

We're divine, a miracle behind
an awe in the blatant memories of dying men.
We were revered, smeared with kindness
like a golden fish to a diamond pot.
we were the spirits calling at noon.
playing tambourines, into beautiful tunes
living in the hollowness of the conscience
like truth served in fatality.

We're the remnants of the wormwood;
once an ounce of precious gem up the rack.
but worthless as a spilled flagon of ale.
the sun is dying beyond the red mountain
so does death comes sacrosanct, like a flowing fountain.
the moon is beautiful, a soul coveted by the reaper.
like a bounty waiting to be plundered.

We're a comet in the galaxy, waiting to shoot.
a gong of tragedy ready to hoot.
a pile of wood in the fire, turned to soot.
like a mass of shear butter, melting to root.
we live, withering in age, closer to the grave
with every tender growth, nearing the death.
we're like a raging snake feeding off it's tail.
a moving train set to derail.
We're withering, withering away.