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The Language of Flowers in a Dystopian World
The Language of Flowers in a Dystopian World
In a world draped in shadows, where hope is scarce,
Flowers speak a language, a subtle, silent verse.
Petals unfold, a dystopian ballet,
Each bloom, a whisper in the desolate fray.
Blossoms in concrete, fragile and bold,
In this desolation, a story they hold.
Dandelions dance, seeds in the breeze,
Carrying dreams through the ashen seas.
Roses in ruins, thorns sharp as despair,
Yet a fragrance lingers, a perfume rare.
A language emerges, silent and deep,
In the dystopian hush, secrets to keep.
The sunflower's gaze, a resilient stare,
Facing the chaos with petals to share.
A beacon of warmth in the cold embrace,
In the language of flowers, a quiet grace.
Violets whisper in shades of twilight,
Echoing resilience in the muted light.
A symphony of blooms, an anthem unsung,
In the dystopian world, where silence is hun
g.
Tulips arise from the cracked, barren ground,
In their vibrant hues, hope is found.
A language etched in petals' embrace,
Telling tales of survival, a delicate grace.
Amidst the ruins, a lone lotus unfolds,
In the murky waters, a story it molds.
A symbol of rebirth in the darkest hour,
In the language of flowers, resilience is power.
Cherry blossoms fall like tears in the night,
Yet in their descent, a promise takes flight.
To bloom again in a world reborn,
In the language of flowers, hope is sworn.
Marigolds blaze in the oppressive gloom,
Their fiery hues a defiance, a bloom.
A language unspoken but deeply heard,
In the dystopian silence, a forgotten word.
So, in this world dystopian and gray,
The language of flowers finds a way.
Petals speak louder than words can say,
A floral dialogue in the disarray.
