"Returning Me"

More taken,
surrendered as due.

Disquietude's overture,
trims the purse of patience.

Unkempt by force,
dear colors fade.

Tender words,
come near slow,
like a dams trickle.

Cracked in turn,
a flood ahead,
finds the rip.

All gray taken,
water like fire,
regrows delicate.

As once was,
within me many,
the violets lush.