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Purple Paint


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This is about the third draft of this poem.

Purple paint, smear'd on a window
clear doorway leads to untold.
Falling to cinders, soft leaves of gold
the girl loses flight, and falls to the snow.
Of all the days she crawled blindly
she chose this one to leap
Now purple paint, hat is so intermittent, is so cheap.
But it hides it all so kindly.
her blood wrapped in it.
her window so dark.
she daren't leave a single mark
on those she wished to hit

Doorways clear, are simple.
concealing nothingin open books,
inviting all to take an uncaring look.
Thinking they're good examples,
but empty rooms conjoined
have white washed walls of bitter silk
that deceive and bilk
and have endlessly purloined.
smiling, she soars through thin clouds.
the ones she fell into,
their inquisition, asking "who?"
but truth it shrouds.

Anyway, if you could write your opinions soon, I'd be very grateful. I need to turn this in for something. (School literary mag.)
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