Flowers of Aurora
They only saw black patches, not the pastels
that swirled in her powdered heart.
They rode those black patches hard.
Down the granite rapids of her life
even after she escaped into
the quiet glade of the afterlife.
I sparred with them for eons...
pastel auroras versus black patches.
Optimist versus pessimist.
She never showed them the inside
The delicate bits.
The blues, the violets, the pinks...
the very pulp of her being...
the flowers of aurora.
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