Purple

Saying mysterious isn't enough
Calling me slick doesn't fulfill it
But my hiding presence is harder
than clicking an idea from hordes of imagination

One minute you grope me with your keen sight,
the other minute I am vanished to an undiscovered world
Showing myself isn't what I am made for
Instead tricking into distinct forms is my favorite game

I am cocooned in a tone that isn't very loud, nor very blunt
Either it is Summer, Winter, Autumn, or Spring, I am active as an owl
Slyly charging glances from inside the hovering cloak, that you barely notice me
And those who do, their nights are sleepless in my charm

Shyness is bound to my personality
Wealth is the reward who chooses to play by my rules
That rare fear pumps when I flas across the sky as the thunderclaps
Beside that, all my secrets are buried under the velvet blanket

Seldom loneliness is too much,
that many complain I am evil in their nightmares
But soon I also pat them to sleep like mother to a child
And hum in a voice that chill writhe into their skin

Disregard the notion that I am some ghost
But someone who is called Purple
Who doesn't show very often
And when I do your slightest affection is engraved in my heart

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I'm no good at interpreting writing that's highly metaphorical & nuanced, as this is. I need a more straightforward message to really get emotionally involved. But despite my inability to follow your entire meaning here, I applaud you for using so much interesting imagery & for your original word choices & vivid descriptions . . . such as: "I am cocooned in a tone that isn't very loud, nor very blunt" . . . and the 4th stanza is especially speaking clearly to me.

[Amber]

I am really happy you checked out my poem though I am new here. Yes, it's true that this poem is little more complicated. But this style best allowed me to convey my meaning about color Purple.
Thanks for reading. I will soon be putting up more stuff.