Purple rides upon the blackened
Waves of misdirected bracken
Shot out of the hole that hides
A melancholy soul inside.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I heard about the one who died
To calm the storm that seemed to be
About to overshadow me.
I do remember cliffs of light
Ascending from a spectral night
That flames of sacrificial pyres
Could not conceal with old desires.
Upon the twisted worm of fate
I rode, aghast at all the hate-
Encumbered faces turned to see
The bane of mediocrity.
No simple-minded smile appeared
To pacify the squids who feared
That maybe they would get the blame
For someone else’s death and shame.
Instead the hung-up slacker dared
To ask for the guilty to be spared;
And with a last exultant cry,
He crossed the finish line to die.