In a perfect dream
an opulent lotus is what we see
as its own fear reeks with envy.
Silver petals line its charcoal stem
as if it were gold burning in its own flame.

Year by year
these treasured petals fall
and vines like raptors attempt to attain them,
but with the swiftness of the breeze,
and the stillness of the fire,
they diminish into this Earth
leaving what is now a faint memory.

Through every fainted muse,
and every endless dream,
its silver stretches for
the wealth,
and the knowledge,
and the grace of its lotus,
Although with every fire,
and every breeze,
it is gently whisked away.