By which does a plumule nourishes?
Is it the water or it's sound that it cherishes?
Does the passing sunlight teem it full of life?
Or does the smile of the maiden makes it want to strife?
Knowing it's existence to be rudimentary,
The significance of a nonentity.

A Tale of Two Flowers...

“In death you will find beauty."
Last words etched into her heart.
“I hope to fulfill my duty."
A sum far greater than any of it's part.

Words nothing but air's reverberation.
Meaning left to subjectivity's discretion.

Hear my story. Will you call it a tragedy?
Still I will call it my esteem, my pride.
My ailment, my malady,
The tale of how I died.
And what became of me.
As all will come to see.

History weaves a story.
Inevitably the die rolls,
Fate in all of it's glory.
Spinning, never ending dance of souls.

It was given to me by my dying love,
A seed of legends, at that rarest whereof,
The rumoured rose which bears hue two,
A blossom witnessed in eternity only by a very few.
A proof that our love was nothing if not true,
The last canvas upon which with his dying breath he drew.
Twenty-One grueling years untill it's Florence grew,
But finally, the two roses came through.

This is the account of their conversation as it were reflected on my iris.
Will you trust this testimony? For faith isn't a privilege enjoyed by the eyeless.
Yet I know you will believe in what it is you will want to be,
Even if the reasons behind it, you will never see.

Such is being human.
Libitina and Pasithea.
God of Death and that of Illusion.
The names were His idea.

“Why are your eyes so sad?
What from life is it that you demand?
To fill a void? I don't understand.
Look at the river flowing,
The moon and the stars glowing.
Your love, they will reciprocate.
Your existence, they will vindicate.
Isn't that enough?"

“I bloom a shade devoid of meaning,
When the birds sing they stray from my path,
Unlike you, not towards light is my leaning,
Devoid of passion, devoid of wrath.
Darkness that dwells around the piercing light,
I am the petals that has the misfortune of blooming white."

“Look what you have done to yourself,
Thrown away your brilliance, light that ignites the fire,
You have choosen to accurse yourself,
For the sake of a single desire.
A single drop of blood.
Is it worth throwing away your selfhood for?"

“A single white petal stained by blood,
Who will be just enough to impartially be my judge?
If it falls into the flowing river,
Will the water to the stars my feelings deliver?
If yes, how will they? For the light is mere reflection.
If no, why won't they? For the light is not an illusion."

Were the last words they shared.
And thus they withered into the night.
The tale of two flowers ends here.
One was Red and the Other White.