Lamentation of the Lily

Oh my dear, Lily. 

I’m afraid I saw this coming 

yet wondered why it should come at all. 

I know what it is to be 

on the receiving end 

of confided grief and dread. 

I see how it can seep 

into the receiver and color the well instead. 

But your fate need not be so funereal. 

A life of cultivation

especially this late in the game 

is rarely made of dreams and ideals, 

but often diminishment, tears, and pain. 

This is, of course, compounded 

by the uncertain affairs of clouds 

and the irony that there is 

such darkness in lofty places

where all of life abounds. 

BUT, do not find your meaning, 

worth, or wisdom in judging soil or sky. 

Instead find it within, 

in a space so sacred 

that nothing can corrupt or touch its integrity. 

The minute we start comparing miseries

we lose our way

because everything has it’s resolve

and one rose’s dilemma 

or sunflower’s challenge 

is the marigold’s chance to evolve. 

Our realities are unequal,

whether meadow, vase, or bed. 

Because we are based in consciousness

and not literal or external instead. 

We meet our adversaries 

as shadows of our unconscious. 

Contrast is how we differentiate. 

Opposites are natural, organic, and necessary. 

The only thing you need 

other than irrigation

is to take responsibility for 

your vibration. 

In this you are like the bees

who oft mistake blades of grass for succulent trees.

Don’t miss the forest for them. 

Or what you fear will take the lead.

Shadows are darkened by your source of light

only to be enhanced each and every night! 

They may seem alarming, even insurmountable.

But like the bee, they are illusory. 

Life is the plight of the peony.

The peony is it’s own poem.  

No poet should explain a poem.

How does one deduce a flower? 

You can only reduce it in an hour. 

A flower is here 

for such subtle and illogical reasons. 

It is here for its own sake. 

It’s texture, smells, and colors so ample, 

they reveal themselves to our senses

but once explained, are trampled. 

You are a flowering, dear Lily.

You are not here for a reason. 

You are a collection of qualities. 

You are not here to solve 

the lamentations of the rose. 

You can empathize, yes,

but do not glower.

When life creates an inferiority

it also grows a flower. 

Your fate is in your petals. 

Do not feel so victimized. 

Stop identifying growing up and old 

with helplessness and demise 

just because you see others 

wilting all around you. 

Be your own version 

of everything you hold dear. 

Be bright red…or glorious yellow.

Embody what you cherish. 

You need

only bloom to defy your gloom; 
an art that has never perished.

Peter Valentyne

February 28, 2019