Aurora

I reworked the poem

Aurora

Memories of the Sun
awaken her mindfully,
as constellations softly
glide past a dark blue existence.

With such twilight aflame,
words will inspire the
conscience to arise,
and pleasures be not rare
for his errant eyes.

Stars are neglected from
her ethereal glow,
and sanity is abandoned
to the celestal arura.

With all hope gone,
what man pondered
a better death?