ladyqkat requested a poem about seeing auras without seeing the colors in them, yet still knowing what colors would be present. As a Pagan scholar I am plenty familiar with the subjectivity of magic, and how the subtle senses may manifest differently for various people ... yet still cluster around the same information. So I had fun finding different ways of describing light without color, and auras interpreted by insight. Sponsored by ladyqkat.
That which is perceived but not seen
remains every bit as real.
It is the wind made visible,
the sound transformed to the sight.
Colors gallivant like ghosts
through a spectrum sensed yet unseen.
It is something intended for divine eyes,
somehow strayed within range of mortal souls.
The tint of the aura is known to the wise,
yet its light may not answer to wavelength.
The clear lines are not colored in
but they define the boundaries all the same.
The meanings are mystical but not mysterious;
the symbolism of the aura is understood.
Each hue has its own ephemeral footprint
just waiting for a watchful eye to follow in its wake.