Futility of This Poem

I gather the panoply
Of my orphic thoughts,
Sew them with thread of tears
Into garland of expressions.
Display them in retail.
Customers smell them.
Repelled by the dull flowers,
Like bees in search of nectar
They fly away to finer prospects.
I sit alone in cold silence.
The narcissist in me
Admires the flowers,
Until the petals wane and fall
As the thread melts away.
The narcissist beholds the garland
And witness it wither with time.