Withered Flower

The way their eyes landed
On that bloomed floret
Made them feel enchanted
And satiated that void of being wanted.

Its aura was alluring and marvelous,
Could save anyone from Tartarus.
But do they know it's becoming preposterous,
And that floret's now the opposite of prosperous?

What happens if they find out
That its blazing heart's dying out?
If bliss is for sale, what's the amount?
Will they hear if it can't even shout?

Now, the floret is growing backward,
Withered and labeled with an "L" placard.
It can't stand for it is too shattered;
The partner of bruised is battered.

Yet, the parched flower is in my mirror as it spoke;
I sighed in effectuation as I inhaled the smoke,

"How did you have such rusty treasures in your hand?
You had a crown, but why can you not stand?
You were a commander, but no one now hears your commands.
Is this the sequel after all those dominion brands?"