The Enduring Cycle's Thorn : Lament of Downtrodden Blossoms Part I

Stanza 1:

Each petal falls in the still aftermath,
As the blade takes its toll on the blossoms of youth.
Destruction cannot keep away what is foretold—   
The inevitable cycle, as old as time’s truth.
For death breeds life, darkness awakens the light,  
Though promises shattered may pierce like a knife.
In nature's strange alchemy, all wrongs turn right,
Erasing the wounds that so marred spring's bright life.
Kill the flowers, delay not what will surely come.

Stanza 2:

Blades cut through innocent buds yet to bloom,  
Severing the beauty meant to perfume the air.
Barren branches reach up in despairing prayer,
Mourning their children now lying in a tomb  
Of shed petals and leaves, a chilling, silent doom.  
But life stirs below in secret, safe from harm,  
The soil pregnant, waiting to give form  
To splendor that will rise, lovely and warm.
Kill the flowers, but spring's rebirth cannot be undone.

Stanza 3:

Petal by petal, the blossoms fall and fade,
Their tender hues leeched of all vitality.
Gone the glory meant to grace the earth, set free—
Only vestiges of their splendor left displayed,
Mere remnants of the symphony conveyed
By nature's artistry, now forever stilled.
But deeper patterns are at work, unfulfilled—
Destruction's scars by life shall be o'erlaid.
Wreck the buds, yet spring's symphony will play again.

Stanza 4:  

Delicate buds now litter the ground, forlorn,
Broken too soon from the stems that gave them birth.
Their beauty and sweetness lost, of little worth—
Only numbers to the merciless tally kept.  
Yet hidden below, the roots are firmly slept,
Drawing strength to fuel rebirth.  Kill the flower,
But the roots hold power beyond your hands’ power—
To resurrect the glory that you usurped.
Destroy the blossoms, but their source is untouched.

Stanza 5:

Petals once gracing the boughs now fade forlorn,  
Prematurely plucked by hands that reap and shred.
But seasons cycle on as they’ve always sped—
What human deeds cannot subvert or reshape.
Below the surface, the roots their vigil keep  
And life will surge again in spring’s floodtides,  
Gifts of beauty that no act impedes.  
Sever the flowers, the turning seasons bide.

Stanza 6:

Bloodied garlands stripped untimely from each bough—  
Fragmentary beauty now at our feet laid low.  
Yet life follows its course as the seasons flow;
The deeper patterns hold, unchanged by actions now.  
Roots draw close in the darkness, coiled and bowed,
Gathering strength until the appointed hour.
Kill the blossom, but not the unseen power  
That brings renewal--time’s unbroken vow.

Stanza 7:

Petals once white now fall, stained crimson red,
Littering the ground where laughter echoed before.
None will admire their fragile beauty anymore—  
Ruined, they join the countless blossoms shed.
But life works on, through depths littered with dead,
Ever stirring, scheme beyond the hands that kill.
Destroy the flower, but time’s design fulfills—  
Turn the soil, rich with what has come and fled.

Stanza 8:

Buds nurtured through chill nights, now untimely torn—
Scattered by disregard for their fragile forms.  
Yet season’s cycles spin on, heedless of human storms,
Below awareness’ plunder, as seeds sleep, reborn.  
Kill the petals, but not the rhythms earth swore—  
To bring color’s splendor when the cold relents.  
Life shapes itself by more primal intents—  
Destroy the blossoms, yet their source endures.

Stanza 9:

Fragile buds stripped and broken, ephemeral bloom  
Left ruined upon the ground, whilst winds exhale
Faint perfumes, last traces of beauty now pale—  
Petals’ torn and tattered tomb.
But deeper life thrums on in seed and root, immune  
To hands that cannot grasp time’s endless weave—  
Pattern binding death to life, loss to receive.
Kill the flowers, but spring’s refrain resumes.

Stanza 10:

Delicate blossoms plucked before their prime
Lie faded, forsaken in their summer graves.
Petals so vibrant yesterday, today just staves  
For binding dead blooms—such the wanton crime.  
Yet seasons arc on, their rhythm the world’s rhyme,  
Death to life in endless oscillation.  
Rise, phoenix, from this petal conflagration!    
Kill the flowers, but time revolves sublime.

Stanza 11:

Once-vibrant petals now strewn and muted in hue,
Prematurely savaged, their bright hues despoiled.
Yet seasons cycle heedless of deeds that foiled  
What nature decreed—rebirth ever made new.  
Kill not the messenger whose words ring true—  
That death breeds life and darkness wakes the light.
Destroy the herald but not the coming night,
Nor blossoms, but not spring’s renewal ever due.

Stanza 12:

Slender buds that strained for sky now plead and droop,
Their yearning forms downturned, bereft of sky’s caress.
Petals ragged, bedraggled in life’s dispossess—  
Beheaded blossoms in death's barren coop.  
Yet seasons turn, no act their course can stop.  
Roots draw strength in deep soil’s fertile wrap
While dying life feeds what is yet to unwrap—
Kill the flowers, but time is hub to their spoke.

Stanza 13:

Once exalted heads now bowed down in the dirt,
Broken buds and blossoms where laughter had rung.  
Yet spring’s unfolding cannot be stalled or unwrung  
By human deeds that death so carelessly flirt.  
Below the surface, time’s true patterns girt—  
Turning death’s pall to feed new surging life.  
Kill the petals, but not earth’s ancient strife  
To cycle seasons—no act can time divert.

Stanza 14:

Buds suffocated before breathing their first breath,
Strangled in cradle before ever beholding light.  
Strewn 'cross cold soil, no more to delight—  
Generations severed by humanity's death.  
But deeper patterns from mortal view kept  
Cycle on as before, heedless of blood shed.  
Kill the blossoms, but not what from them shall spread—
Locked roots hold power beyond hands that reap.

Stanza 15:

Delicate buds plundered before they unfurl  
Lie stripped of glory that was their meager share—  
To open for an instant, ephemeral and fair,  
Before falling spent. Seasons ongoing swirl  
Below roots wrapped around earth’s dark pearl.  
Kill the flowers, but not the forces that run  
Through phloem and xylem—circling the sun  
Whilst man’s shadow falls long cross the world.

Stanza 16:

Beauty cut off contemplating its first morn,  
Petals torn asunder, seasons overthrown—  
Human breaking what nature gently sown.  
But time flows on silent, death but rebirth’s norm,  
As roots spread unseen deep below sleeping storm.
Kill the blossom, but not what thereby feeds  
Continuing cycles, life’s immortal needs—  
Destroy the flower, but not the coming fecund bourn.

Stanza 17:

Precious buds stripped before breathing their perfume,  
Fragrances meant to grace the winds now squandered.  
Only severed stems left on branches saddened—  
Barren, bereaved, spring’s promise left a ruin.  
But the deeper veins pulse on, nature in tune  
With primal rhythms human hands can’t stop,  
Spiraling seasons’ steady cadence top  
To bottom—kill the flower, but not the looping loom.  

Stanza 18:

Once-vibrant corollas critiqued by rigorist,  
Found lacking by those peddling fear and doubt—  
Declared obscene, forbidden, trampled out—  
Delicate beauty by regimen dismissed.  
Yet through darkness’ veil, new life persists—  
Roots united beneath, while human hands scatter.  
Kill the blossom, but earth’s slow wheel will chatter  
On as before—resilient, ever tryst.

Stanza 19:

Glorious blooms condemned unfit to see light,  
Disallowed their moment of sun’s warm glow.  
Only torn remnants of what was to grow,  
Left ruined as humanity’s pathological blight.  
Yet deeper rhythms bide beyond mortal sight,  
Roiling old as deepest sea, waiting to surge.  
Kill the petals, but time’s engine still works—  
Flower dies, but ongoing season’s continual flight.

Stanza 20:

Purged petals, generations not allowed birth—  
Scattered across indifferent land, forsaken.  
Nature's meticulous brushstrokes, undertakings—  
Nullified in tempest fury unleashed to earth.  
But seasons' cycle holds, death but rebirth—  
Destroy the blossoms, but not what thereby spreads.  
Kill the flowers, yet ongoing arc time threads—  
Humanity's shadow brief upon the girth.

Stanza 21:

In flurries they fall, reduced to refuse—  
Vitality seeping, earth reclaims its due.    
But ongoing cycles cannot be halved or hewed—  
Roots draw close, death to feed boundless muse.
Kill the flowers, but deeper patterns suffuse   
To shape anew from pyre of spent petals.  
Destroy the surface, but not the deep channels  
Cycling death to life—no act the world ensues.   

Stanza 22:

Nature’s palette strewn and wasted 'neath trees—  
Crimson and azure litter the ground, forlorn.  
Nothing remaining of yesterday’s colors born—  
Only skeleton branches left denuded by freeze.  
Yet turn the earth to find what death frees—  
Nutrients cycling to shape unrealized dreams.
Kill the blossom, but ongoing scheme
Flows below notice—destroy the plant, not the seed.

Stanza 23:

A season's exaltation now brought to naught  
As blossoms are stripped, tomorrow's yield destroyed.  
Petals meant to unfold now devoid, null and void—  
Beauty and Utility both come to naught.  
Yet roots wrapped in earth's dark bind futures wrought—  
Pulsing, biding, drawing on death's dark reduce.   
Kill the flowers, but not the ceaseless profuse  
Wellspring—destroy the surface, but not the deep thought.

Stanza 24:

Buds blanched before breathing, their opus incomplete,  
Left ravaged 'neath indifferent skies.  
Bereft thieves replace hope with devastate cries—   
Generations forestalled, never to meet.
But time flows on, death to life's cadence replete.  
Kill the blossom, but the music plays on,   
Score untouched by hands who only marred one  
Surface scene—the song unbroken runs deep.

Stanza 25:

Delicate blossoms stripped from their berth  
Now turn to the earth, forsaken, alone—  
Severed unfairly before fully blown,
Only fading remnants of possible worth.  
Yet seasons march heedless of human dearth—
Roots in fertile darkness draw nascent life.
Kill the flower, but not nature’s ancient strife  
To cycle death and rebirth—resilient turf.

Stanza 26:

Gentle blooms condemned, judged too bright, too bold—  
Sentenced to oblivion, forbidden to be.  
Only scattered remains of possibility—  
Beauty declared unfit, from light revoked and parole.   
But time flows on beyond reach of control,  
Turning death’s shards ever to feed new surge.  
Kill the petals, but the power yet works  
To shape anew from shards—time's tireless role.

Stanza 27:

Perfect buds awaiting sky's first light  
Now downtrodden, bereft of dawning's warmth.    
No more to become, only to feed earth—  
Generations stripped of potentials bright.  
But deeper patterns hold beyond mortal sight,  
Turning destruction toward creation's face.  
Kill the blossoms, but not the fast embrace  
That binds death to life—nature's cunning sleight.

Stanza 28:

Fragile blooms savaged before breathing air,  
Scattered broken upon indifferent earth.  
Bereft of open skies, all promise dearth—  
Only fading hues left as testament where  
Bright corollas were to flower, but fell to tear.  
Yet from ruin's shards, new life will riven—  
Kill the buds, but not the ancient driven  
To shape anew—beyond hands that unair.

Stanza 29:

In piles they fall, colors muted and gray—  
Vibrancy drained as earth reclaims her own.  
But ruthless seasons, heedless, cycle on—  
Ever turning death's shards to shape tomorrow's day.
Kill the blossoms, but not the seeds that stay  
Buried below—promise held in fallow ground.  
Destroy the flower but not the fruit unfound  
In root and rhizome—there potential lay.

Stanza 30:

Beauty beheaded before its first breath,  
Petals unopened now face the cold earth.  
Love and possibility both come to dearth—    
Only fading corollas left in the wake of death.  
But seasons march heedless of blood's red wreath,  
Roots draw close in the darkness, two hemispheres  
Joining deep, while human shadow only sears  
The surface—kill the bud but not life's bequeath.

Stanza 31:  

In piles they fall, bruised petals void of soul—  
Scarred membranesChina white once so pure.    
To the earth returned, fleeting hues obscured—  
Seasonal pallet drained ere reaching full.  
But time's hands work below turning death's toll  
To feed endless cycles that ever turn.  
Kill the blossoms, but not the slow churn  
That transforms pall to life—time's endless scroll.

Stanza 32:

Purged buds condemned, sentenced to hell  
By human adjudicators of light's true form.    
Scattered and severed before ever born—  
Only fading remnants left to tell  
Their story of glory glimpsed but befell.  
Yet seasons cycle heedless of human exchange,  
Roots in darkness draw close, rearrange—  
Kill the flower, but not the indwelling well.

Stanza 33:

Perfect buds plucked while innocent still  
Lie strewn and broken, forsaken by careless hands.  
No more to flower or grace summer's airy strands—  
Only cast-off husks 'neath trees to fill.  
Yet through the void, slowly turns earth's old mill—  
Grinding death's shards ever finer to sift  
As seeds for new life—time's endless gift.  
Kill the blossom, but not the turning wheel.

Stanza 34:

Delicate corollas severed perfect from stems  
Now turn back to earth, only to decompose.  
Robbed of sky’s warmth, only to feed roots that grow
And fuel further seasons’ relentless hems.  
Destroy the surface, but time’s patterned frames  
Continue weaving all acts within—  
Insistent shuttle ever spinning in  
Its web—kill the flower, but not the wider schemes.

Stanza 35:

Inspector condemns blooms too flushed, pronounced blind—  
Petals deemed obscene, hurriedly covered from sight.  
Scattered and shamed and shut away from light—  
Beauty abolished, calumniated by darkened mind.  
But deeper patterns in earth's clay bind,  
Roots unite below human ignorance above,  
Season's cycles slowly revolve—  
Turning death to feed life—time's endless grind.

Stanza 36:

Buds stripped prematurely from life's full feast,  
Scattered on indifferent earth, forsaken.  
Tomorrow's glory and beauty taken—  
Only severed stems left as bitter bequest.  
But seasons turn in patterns too deep to wrest—  
From time's own working, heedless of human acts.  
Kill the blossoms, but not the pacts  
Written in roots—promising fecund zest.

Stanza 37:

Purged blossoms declared obscene, deprived light and air,  
Scattered broken, judged unfit to grace earth.    
Left ruined and downtrodden, all beauty dearth—  
Generations severed for cultural glare.  
Yet seasons hold course beyond mortal care,  
Roots draw close, reshaping human discard—  
Kill the flower, but ongoing living shard  
Recycles death—there is the cosmic dare.

















   The poem is part of a full version found in the book “Homo Sapiens” Part Part I - XVIII, written by Mawphniang Napoleon. This book is part of the popular “Homo Sapiens” book series, which can be purchased online at various online bookstores, such as Amazon. The book is available for purchase for those who are interested in reading the complete version of the poem. Remember to get all the books from the “Homo Sapiens” series, as well as other books by the same author.   So, don’t hesitate and get a copy today from one of the many online bookstores.   Khublei Shihajar Nguh,  (Dhanewad  )(Thank you )