updraft, lemon light of sun #poem

Image 40

the past is often where we close a pain filled door

years later looking in

there is no more room except for flowers

& those who took the lemon light

remain but sealed in darker hours

like mother in her critical tower

mom:noir

I’d never choose yellow is what she said

and so I choose to rest my head

in golden bowers towering high

their plump sun cushions fill the sky

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nails

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