Purple

First poem in a while

The colour Me upon the brush stood out a royal blue.

The brush and palette touched and there I met the colour You.


The colour You was bright and red, but as we swirled and blended,

The colour Us was born instead and on the canvas rendered.


The purple we had come to be spun midnight storms and seas.

One stroke by one we’d paint the shadows cast by towering trees.


But when the canvases of only colour Us piled tall,

We made a choice to be the colours You and Me once more.


The colour Me, once back to blue, would paint a cloudless sky.

The colour You, when red anew, would make a roaring fire.


But history were red and blue; mere memories of colour.

Purple now was who we were, infected by each other.


The colour Me shaped stubbornly a vast and purple space,

While colour You in equal hue produced a chilling blaze.


In a way we’d known from the day we were mixed together:

That Me and You aren’t red or blue.

We’re purple now forever.


 

Author: wtfranjo

My name is Franjo. And I will be a Football Manager.

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