Bronze Blossom

Once a bronze blossom shone so sophisticatedly. Flourishing in an oasis of tropical butterflies. Its aura would emanate from enigmatic auroras. Its roots nourished from the scents of petrichor. Admirers would gather to gaze at such grandeur, oblivious of poppies among common roses, so the jealous sun in its narcissistic loneliness, blazed with hell like rays, creating a drought. In the inhuman illusion of synthetic flowers, its petals withered like rustic wicker wreaths. I stood helpless, as the wind left it exposed, as lifeless buds began swirling in the air. Only evergreen textures remain timeless. An empty garden has no worth to birds or bees. In the silence between seasons, so much is lost, yet unique anomalies always leave memories behind.