Fading Colours

A strange smell of suspicion sickens,
For the dark of clouds has cleared to blue,
The black of blood has rinsed to red,
And normalcy appears to true.

The down days have rendered unknown
What it felt to be at peace
And now that the white has risen again,
I'm clueless how the grey did cease.

The violets in my garden bloom,
But I wonder how to nurture them,
I fear I'll lose to dark green thorns,
And lead the violet wilt to doom.

All seems to tint to yellow,
And happy hues win the better,
But it feels unsure, an orange obscure,
If the darker shades of darker days will arrive again.

The brown petrichor sure is pure
The tan of sand is a bliss,
But lingers a fear, a charcoal smear,
That the vibgyor shall soon fade away.
The colours will vanish in a boundless abyss.