Purple

O’ the color purple is a royal interlude…

Lying on the backs of noble shoulders,

With s-i-x letters —

And 8 beatitudes.

Its silent cries clamor for strength,

As its subtle flare,

Blows dense smoke in the waiting room.

For it knows how to numb the pain,

From a sharp edge,

Mixing to sing a song of bloody blues!

Yes, purple is a dense void,

Not quite as kind as pink —

But it has a neon charm to its noise,

Igniting city lights with its dark ink,

For purple is a rich man,

that has found his lost lover,

O’ purple is an opulent woman,

seeking city lights,

/ just to go undercover /