they only saw the black patches
not the pastels
that swirled in her powdered heart
and they rode those black patches,
down the granite rapids of her life
even after she escaped into
the quiet glade of afterlife
i sparred with them for eons...
pasteled auroras versus black patches
but it was useless,
because she never showed them the inside
the blues the violets the pinks...
the very pulp of her being...
the flowers of aurora