The Violet Dwindles

It’s a shame that most days are silent here in this cave,

But it’s hard to drill through the ice after so many years of relative stillness.

I just hate this rustling of the norm.

When in actuality, this is the norm;

We just don’t relate to it anymore.

Maybe that’s because my colors have blossomed

And their colors seem transparent now.

Foggy, monotonous, drab.

Is that guilt I feel, pinching my heart? Do I insult?

Well, I love them, dearly

Yet I hate the colorless life I’m sucked into in their company.

Because the violet dwindles in the damp cave,

Which is mute and still, but not untroubled.

She can’t survive there without light and wind

To ruffle the norm.