Not Two, But One

My garden lies on enemy lines between two opposite opponents.
They fight from dawn, when their petals bloom, to dusk as they slowly fall asleep.
Bickering over who knows what, those hot-blooded bloomers just won’t stop.
On the right we have the lovely blue painted in beautiful ocean hues.
Settled to the left is the lightest of purples looking like a pristine piece of candy.
And in the middle lies one lone flower whose color could be none but periwinkle.
I listen in and find the cause—which side does Periwinkle fit in?
Those flower’s blooms are beautifully mixed between our blues and purples.
And while the two sides fight, little Periwinkle is left to herself.
Golden dew drops hang from her petals and her steam is dull and soft;
those two sides don’t even notice the misery their flower friend goes through.
“Please stop,” I cry and gently take the lone color into my hands.
“Her petals are blue, but also purple, with both of you she belongs.
Together you two selfish sides must come to accept you both in one.”
In a matter of seconds two colors agree and link with green arms;
leaving the creation of color in the middle, but never again alone.