Awash

Awash

And colourless.

The picture changing,

Even as the day begins.

Blues have drained,

Red and gold

I thought might stay,

So quickly,

Fade to grey.

It is as though

The best of me runs out,

To leave me rinsed

Clean and emptied,

Of all that filled me.

A rusty bucket.

With a broken handle

Leaking now.

So afraid

My only useful trait,

To be a container,

A transporter.

Taking the water

Of life,

To those in need,

Will soon be gone.

Corrosion eats my skin,

A wasting condition.

Time,

To change position.

A more secluded spot.

Dig the earth,

Become a plant pot.

A receptacle

Of new colours,

That may slowly grow

And one day,

Burst,

Fully into bloom

Again.