The colour of what is left

No worthy ally, but there’s peace with poems,
reason I’m bard.
Heart shattered like pieces of broken glass,
we’ll heal with nard.
Though life once shut the door of hope on us,
we still stayed strong.
Poetry widely spread her arms with love,
made us belong.
Rain should come erode our sins, grief and pains,
we’ll start again.
It has to be dark for the sun to shine,
we’ll wait to gain.
This is the colour of all we have left,
the rest are missing, though there was no theft.

Wildkhard

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