Life Is a Withering Flower

A reflection on the fragility of life this poem compares our journey to a flower that blooms only to wither, reminding us that all beauty, ambition, and existence must one day face the truth of death.

what are you scared of?
the society? the silence? the faces?
what keeps you chasing this endless train,
gripping dreams that vanish like smoke?

how much more is enough for you?
how foolish �" you, me,
and all who walk this weary road,
never asking where it leads.

but what then,
when there’s no seat left for you?
no more tomorrows to chase?
no hand to hold, no voice to call your name?

alas �" all that you’ve gathered
can’t shield you.
no wealth, no praise, no prayer
can buy you time.

there is nowhere left to go.
death stands before you, silent, waiting �"
and this is the only truth we share.

Author's Note

This poem isn’t meant to be sad, but honest. Death is not the end of beauty, but part of its meaning.

Reviews

[Soren]

Such a peaceful poem that looks at death as an end and so it is but I see it as a metamorphosis not a reincarnation but a change and so natural to become dust and from that other things. This poem was very nice not sad.

[poetic swan]

thankss, i am really happy that you like my poem and understnd it.