Purple is the popping of purple grapes I eat, waiting for sunset,
Whispering chimes and chirps at sunrise,
The slow movement of my feet dancing to violins,
Love that comes and goes without a goodbye,
The last skittle in the bag,
And the broken arch of a rainbow.

It’s the scentless smell of tears that trickle down my face,
An inbred rose in a garden of lilacs,
The synchronized blows of spring air on my face,
And the shaded color of the bruise down deep in my soul.

It’s the morning sun in Hawaii,
The reflection of the sky off the ocean,
An emotional feeling of happiness,
And blind love between one boy and one girl.

It’s a ray of light between a shadow and the sun,
The folder I keep secrets in, hidden deep in my heart,
My fingertips frozen by the cruelness of winter,
The Peaceful feeling of solitude,
The one sparkle in his eye,
And a love once gone yet to return.

It’s the silky smoothness of satin,
The color of amethyst,
Justin Bieber’s favorite color,
And the sweet ending to my poem.