The colour of what is left

We were the deepest and strongest of red.
None could compare.
On and in every street, we left a mark,
Non did we Spare.

We were a mix of more than green and blue.
Glasses we broke.
On brushes a new world we had painted
With every stroke.

We thought we wanted more , we gave us up.
Like the night breeze
We were weak, mild, altered,confused and slow.
We couldn’t freeze.

The colour of what we left is sadness,
False truth and shame.
This was not how we had planned it all out.
Who do we blame?

Miidong.