I hunger for a hue that is not red,
Not the crimson of the wound, the scream unsaid.
I thirst for a colour that is not blue,
The deep despair of what we’re going through.

So, colour me purple. Let the dye be deep,
For the silent promises the violent keep.
For the child’s wide eye, the woman’s bruise in shadow,
The man broken clean on a ruthless wheel of sorrow.

Colour me purple for every stolen breath,
A royal protest in the face of certain death.
Drench me in the downpour of a Purple Rain,
Wash the pain from the pavement, cleanse the stain.

Let the scent of lavender, a ghost in the air,
Deplete the evil, the coldness, the despair.
Let it bridge the fierce red and the calming blue,
The rage for justice, the peace we hold true.

Colour me with wisdom, a spiritual light,
A crown for the people who stand through the night.
Colour me with power, not of a throne,
But the creative will to rebuild what’s been overthrown.

Colour me with dignity, a resilient art,
The ambitious fire of a mending heart.

We have cried purple tears, a lament so deep,
But the red of our people’s blood will not sleep.
It will not be dyed, it refuses to fade,
A stark, scarlet accusation that has been made.

The leaders dine on business, polished and plain,
While the soil itself cries out with our pain.
Just see, we may have died, our names in a scroll,
A price paid in full for a lack of control.

And after the eruption, the silent, choked screams,
After the shattering of all our dreams,
A simple voice whispers, frail but released,
“All we want is peace and harmony.”

It is the only colour that will bring us rest.
The final, silent shade of color, when true blessing embraces and holds us.