Ode To The Asphodels by Mike Williams 03/23/2016 @ 1:05 P.M.

Untarnished daughters under heaven, 
Serenely growing in the ancient field. 
Exhault no hero of men to Elysian, 
Nor kills in the name of gods and sword wield. 
I gaze at the golden fated flower, 
Which blooms glorious unknowing to die. 
Striven to sky without reason doth bloom, 
Asking never for what purpose and power. 
Questioning not its fate as mankind and I, 
Live despite the world's prophets of doom. 

Still they dream in hope of some amaranth, 
Exhausting slowly behind half shut eyes. 
Stirring me within the mind's labyrinth, 
Amid the splendor ephemeral I. 
I dare but observe and refrain cutting, 
If any gods exist, they're made their hand. 
This is all that any need to reason, 
Surely I would not wish to spite neither. 
No difference of life in flower and man, 
And glimmering a short gentle season. 

Grow, bloom, live, thrive, and die the flowers do, 
Changing inward, yet outward much the same. 
Striven against climate to hold their hue, 
Until the good is gone and dried stalk remain. 
Simple the flowers due my liberation, 
lay in the cool of the mossbed's wet grass. 
Wondering no mythological tales, 
And rest from all of man's aggrivation. 
Contented in due course the hours must pass, 
Fading not in time the sweet Asphodels.