Dead

I reached to touch the lilies, Their pale and quiet grace, A beauty soft and solemn, Like whispers in a vase.

But in their ghostly petals, A chill began to creep, A flower dressed in sorrow, Where hidden shadows sleep.

Their fragrance filled the silence, A cold and fragile song, It wrapped around my heavy heart Where something felt so wrong.

For lilies bloom in mourning, They grow in grief’s embrace, A bloom for all that’s fleeting, A soft, unyielding trace.

I held them close, the lilies, Yet all they gave was pain— A fleeting touch of elegance That wilted in the rain.