Poppy's Dichotomy Poem

In fields of vibrant hues, a poppy stands, A paradox of beauty, in its fragile hands. Its petals, crimson velvet, enchant the eye, But in its tale, both good and bad do lie.

Oh, poppy fair, a symbol of desire, Your graceful form ignites a passionate fire. In gardens, you sway, a seductive dance, A siren's call, a spell, a fleeting chance.

Yet, in your touch, a bittersweet embrace, For hidden within you, pain finds its place. Your sap, a potent potion, holds a key, To both healing solace and dark misery.

For in the realm of medicine, you thrive, A gentle remedy, a soul's revival, alive. From you, we extract a gift, opiate's grace, Easing suffering, in pain's relentless chase.

But oh, dear poppy, your allure has a stain, A shadow that haunts, a curse we can't disdain. For within your essence, addiction takes hold, A venomous serpent, a story untold.

Through shattered lives, its tendrils slowly creep, Devouring dreams, leaving souls to weep. Oh, how the line between pleasure and pain, Becomes blurred, entangled, an eternal strain.

The poppy's song, a melody complex, A symphony of triumph and heartache, vexed. Its petals, a tapestry of yin and yang, A dichotomy of hope and suffering's pang.

So let us tread with caution in your fields, Respect your power, the scars your touch yields. For in your grace, a lesson to be learned, To cherish your beauty, with caution, discerned.

The good, the bad, the ugly intertwined, In the poppy's realm, a balance we find. A testament to life's dichotomy, A fragile flower, a symbol of empathy.