I was reading an article on the use of purple prose. Which inspired me to write this linguistical manuscript of poetic wonderment.
The use of words to paint the picture
you want your readers eyes to see.
My paintings would be Lowry’s
as I like simplicity.
An instrument of toil.
The sweat stained blacksmith made.
I much prefer it simpler
and call a spade a spade.
Standing on the precipice of the steep cliff.
The foaming waves crashing on the perilous rocks below.
A watery grave awaiting
in the murky depths below.
The cliff edge I am standing on
is the one inside my head.
The only danger if I step off
is a psychiatric bed.
The smell of stale beer and tobacco, emanating from his breath.
The beads of sweat dripping to the floor.
The picture of the night that I was raped
is carved into my mind for evermore.
No purple prose can paint a more harrowing sight
than the one I carry round inside my head.
The one that caused the heartache and the pain
and made me sometimes wish that I was dead.
The autumn leave where glistening in the rain,
those beautiful warm autumnal colours seeping through their veins
On this dark and dreary mid-November night
I thought I would lie down and go to sleep and maybe I would not wake up again.
The picture that I painted up above
Is not the one that I was trying to find
I just wanted to depart this mortal coil
And stop the pain that was running through my mind.
I have got myself into a better place.
Some peace of mind I have found at last.
It wasn’t always an easy thing to do
As I tried so hard to leave behind my past.
There is a place for purple prose
When and where to use it, is an art.
But sometimes you just need the simple words
When what your writing is coming from the heart.