Radiant Purple

She is radiant purple,

Animated and annoyingly bubbly,

When depression comes to drive,

It is purple.

It is the force of nature,

Wind beckoning in whispers,

Whistling in long shadows,

Knowing she is blue and red,

Mixed to radiant purple.

She is anger and loss so well packaged,

So well presented,

She is neither angry nor lost,

She is radiant purple.

Purple is the suggestion to love the unlovable,

It is feeling auras,

And seeing sounds,

Hearing colours,

And bleeding,

radiant purple.

Purple justifies harassment as submissive acts,

And manipulates mind, and minds,

Teeters on the edge,

That it itself has created.

Purple is the depth of sadness,

In a man who has delivered,

At least 1300 babies in his lifetime.

Bar fly, in radiant purple.

Purple is the “Neon Goddess”,

All shades of radiance,

Palette of a thousands could-have-beens,

And one: yet-to-be.

Purple is the courage to quit.

Knowing ends mean beginnings,

Beginnings in red,

And blue,

Now seeking, radiant purple.

Purple doesn’t aim to please the followers,

But honour the follower,

A shadow of self,

Too often red,

Too often blue,

Purple could be me or you.

It was a few months ago I met purple,

I didn’t think too much of it,

Too much of them,

For they hid behind similarities,

I too,

Hide in similarities.

What it is we share,

Is what we possess in common,

There is no red for me,

Or blue for you,

When mixing radiant purple.

How many deaths has that man seen in delivery?

Does a thousand births outweigh the weight of,

A life lost,

In his, or mothers hands,

A child of radiant purple?

Whispers beckon, and beg to scream.

And yet the whistle of wind,

Never rung so loud,

At the birth of radiant purple.

Delivered by depression,

On the arms of red and blue,

I hear in neither anger nor loss,

Nor bubbly intermission,

But calming voice,

In loving choice,

“My child, I see radiance in you”.