Beneath the spreading branches of a jacaranda,
obscured among the fallen purple blossoms,
her raiment a failed mimicry,
incapable of capturing the pure brilliance,
and clarity the hues of nature achieved,
she looked as her mood, invisible, camouflaged.
Veiled from view, the company of the blossoms,
her only validity that perhaps some of it had worth.
A reason for the brief outburst of her life,
the blossoms understood, their time had come.
Betrayed by youth, purple-veined hands grasping at memories,
fleeting glimpses of past beauty,
compelling remembrance of the grandiose.
Now a mere purple smudge on the horizon of life,
on the brink of the doom of dissipation,
soon to be an unremembered echo in time.
Perhaps it was best that she couldn't remember.
She brushed her purple-tinged, silver hair back,
uncovering deep violet shadows,
spread beneath dim amethyst eyes.
Exploring the mix, a fitting hue, fiery red for passion,
the blue of sadness,
Her life condensed into the macabre nothingness of purple.
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