One Way Life

This image was created with the assistance of ChatGPT, using AI-generated visuals based on a detailed description provided by me.

Silver stems rise through the earth, crowned with pale stars.
It is not the velvet of roses nor the pulse of red poppies,
Not the fleeting blush of springtime’s first bloom.
Oh, asphodel, do you know the secrets you hold beneath your bloom?
In your quiet dance, do you carry the weight of forgotten dreams or the light of distant stars?

As a child, I wandered through fields,
laughter scattered like seeds, beneath skies too wide to hold.
Great-grandfather, do you still watch the wind sweep over the hills,
Or have you drifted with it, far beyond the reach of my voice?

Why is the asphodel the keeper of forgotten paths,
Rooted in silence where no footsteps return?
I am telling you about the asphodel because it blooms where memory fades,
A witness to all we leave behind, yet still quietly remains.

I dreamed of a river made of glass,
Its surface smooth, yet beneath, currents twisted like time itself.
And here it stands, the asphodel,
Quiet in the meadow, its pale blooms swaying gently in the breeze,
Roots deep in the soil, untouched by time,
A silent witness beneath the wide, open sky.