A clean white canvas
Sits atop our foreheads
As the third eye, like a director in a play
Guides the light within us

We splatter our paints, coloring our world
We make choices about linens
And strong cups of coffee
While we sit among windowsills

Blue skies have dark clouds
They reach beyond our comprehension
A dried tear. A forgotten love
They are like petals. Within blossoms
They bear like armor upon our hearts

Unforgotten truths from our past
Keep hindering our progression
We dream of pretty flowers
In gardens planted by lovers
We are. Though not what is meant to be

We feel our lives are like marshmallows
We are afraid to burn in the fire
Though we are cringing and shrinking our souls
They are not helpless. They will not wither
They are like roses in the garden of love