Purple Rain

Run within the field of ever,
the deer of human faces,
the spirits trapped inside the trees,
the winged wolf, it rises.

And rain falls from sunset clouds,
spotting little faces.
The war is done and we have won!
The sky shall show its pleasure
by drenching smoke with tears of joy.
The purple rain drips down.

At last we can breath clean air,
the fire and smoke drenched, dead
so we may live instead.

Running through a field of green,
bordered by forests smiling so.
The swords of battle drenched in red
now washed clean and rusted through.
My eyes are opened wide at last,
lift off the bloodstained cast
that masked our minds and clouded spirits
and taste the sweet fruit of freedom.

The trees raise their branches high,
welcoming the life,
accepting colour and imagination
as the purple rain drips down.

Through golden beauty of the sun,
dabbed with pink and empurpled wonder.
The sky is open at last,
the clouds shimmer a clean, new white
like fresh snow drifting through an ocean of blue.

Freedom captures our breath,
the land reviving slowly,
I find myself simply running,
embracing this new feeling,
drenched in purple rain.

Forever we are free,
forever we will be,
forever soaked

in purple rain.

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coffeewithleonardcohen's picture

Hi Go-a-green-a, What a very

Hi Go-a-green-a,
What a very sensory poem. I loved the very first line because it made me feel like I was there.
Hope you didn't think I was picking on you. I like your stuff a lot. But... you asked!