The paradox is perhaps While I was afraid of the darkness

Inside of me,

I naively ignored the darkness in others,

Sure I could either find their light

Or bring them to the light, 

When doing so only buried me further

Under a burden of failure and


The paradox really was

That I had to embrace

My own inky depths,

The broken pieces, 

Those bruised and battered

And see the beauty in those ebony roses,

Navy nasturtium,

Purple pansies

They were, are, the garden

From which I grow


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