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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A poem about the color purple.

Submitted: November 16, 2016

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Submitted: November 16, 2016





They have called it royal purple but I’m not really sure

that the name is so appropriate, that it really shows the score.


A mix it is of blue and red, of coldness mixed with hot;

it varies in intensity, but let’s not lose the plot.


Blue, it speaks of calmness and a seascape that’s serene,

while red is more of danger and of anger sometimes seen.


The balance it does vary, depending on the shade;

some so dark they’re almost black, while others almost fade.


Maybe it’s the balancing that brings to it that name

when in days so long gone by the royals sure would claim


to be capable of neutrality and very clear of thought,

striking with intensity when anger was then caught.


If purple’s meant for balancing, with me it surely fails --

it is a color that precedes all those stormy gales.


When it swirls around inside my head balance is long gone,

so maybe that description I have just proved wrong.


For me it means foreboding, a struggles on the way;

one that’s going to leave me wishing I’d just turned away.


It’s not my favorite by a mile, it muddles up my space,

I’ll remove it from my wardrobe and put black there in its place.

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