Litany of the Lilies

“Litany of the Lilies”

In the hush where dawn first learns

to lift its trembling hand,

the lilies rise

pale lanterns in the breath of morning,

their petals unfolding

like whispered revelations.

They are the quiet daughters of light,

born from the earth’s soft sigh,

curved like the memory of wings

left behind by a passing angel.

White lilies

they guard silence the way

temples guard prayer,

purifying the air with an innocence

that even grief cannot stain.

Pink lilies

blushing with the softness

that lovers leave in each other’s palms,

carrying the warmth of unspoken lullabies.

Golden lilies

sunlight sculpted into bloom,

their throats filled with hymns

for all wandering sorrows

that need a place to rest.

And red lilies

those burning chapters of the heart

that refuse to dim,

shaking the earth with the weight

of uncontainable longing.

When night arrives,

the lilies do not sleep.

They only grow quieter

as though guarding

the fragile architecture of darkness,

their fragrance drifting

through the veins of the wind,

teaching the stars

how to be gentle.

Oh lilies,

you are the soft insistence of beauty

in a world that forgets to kneel.

You bloom in the ruins,

in the broken gardens,

in the trembling hands

of someone who has loved too fiercely.

In your presence,

even time hesitates

as if afraid to disturb

the holiness of your unfolding.