A crumpled swatch in their desperate fist,
this is our color, shouting, over and again,
shouting, we are selfish indigo, we feel constant,
not of any moment, full bodied brew,
like unfurled waves on tarnished shore.
They see sad eyes, rumpled skin, rutted road,
blinded in sunshine, underrated moon glow,
desperate despair, looking past foreboding places,
back alleys, soup kitchens, 4 a.m. subways,
tear soaked children clutching collateral vengeance
and sugar infested treats..
We can mend their broken smile, their hasty judgment,
the scorn they wear on every walkway, ours is
tranquility over mended heart, with a spot of green
leaf and sage, our color, our shade, our purpose,
steeped in heritage then - painted blue.