Purple

By A Poem Guy

Purple,

Royalty.

Purple,

Power.

The cloak of purple,

To scare the youth,

To hide the truth,

To show power.

The crown of gold,

To give purple,

To give castles,

To gain power.

The search for a crown,

The desire for purple,

To claim a throne,

To kill for a colour.

Bloodshed had been shed,

For the colour of a flower,

A stone to sit on,

And a field to own.

But what happens when the crown is taken?

The purple burnt?

The throne asunder?

All that’s left is the blood on your hands,

All in search of that powerful colour.

A crown is beauty, yes.

Purple’s price is high, yes,

But how much purple for a life?

How far into the blackness must you fall,

To hold a colour that is now too dark to see?

How I question the amount of gall,

To take a crown,

From the hands of previous royalty.

A cycle of death,

Artificially made.

A cycle of gold,

Squandering life.

All in pursuit of purple.