Who is allowed to paint the sky? Who determined its banners of blue? Who will stop me from splashing in red? To give it a hopeful purple hue.
I hate the blues of the world. The somberness spoils the sun. It hardens the clouds into lumps. Is purple not stardust spun?
Who chose the lights of the morning? Who chased the night into dark? Is day not a shadow of reality? Night is where every dream sparks.
I’ve repainted the sky a violet haze. the reds and blues race to the horizon. They swirl and spin and strum. Ribbons to wrap the world in.
