Asphodel's in the sky

Nature, she's a cruel vixen
With her pastel complexion and soothing caresses whispering pleasantries with the wind
Almost dancing a sultry ballet as fallen maple leaves wisk amidst the breeze
It's almost a shame to think something so elegant is just the mask of reality
But then again.. Nothing is beautiful until it's revolting
And I'm disgusted by it's graceful etiquette when everything else lays in vapid ruin

I replay this thought constantly like some over bearing basket case with a.d d.
Listening as the horizon promises it's favorite aged old fabricated lie
Of a new day that brings the romanticism of a new beginning
And I often converse with my shadow about such trifled things
About all those precious empty thoughts guiding my gaze to the moon
And I begin to fall beyond the unknown of astrological wonders
Just like regrets do as they haunt one to their grave

I find myself pondering if the sky too whispers in soliloquy
As ominous clouds flourish in pathos
Offering the faint expression of a desolate moon
All while arranging the stars as lamet lillys,
Asphodel's for symbolic condolence
In the forgotten language of flowers

And I can't help but dwell on how much I hate it's wasted fucking delicacy