A Peculiar Purple
Banners, superior in color, march out in front.
To counter, to stand, against minds invaded with blunt.
Words, but more than that, jump off tear drenched pages.
A battle cry resounds, present from ages.
So long has a haunting presence stirred so much confusion
There is no love in this, but a blade set only to pin.
Such a smile is fixed about one strewn with light, with life
Willing is the hand grasping a precious victory.
Habits, so full of hurt taunt and tease at broken chains,
Yet a healing rises among comfortable pains.
Ready and waiting, with that brilliant flag ready to be sewn.
The sun begins to rise and a gallant trumpet is sweetly blown.
Letting sins fall as our Fatherís blood did.
Running to a calling, with no light hid.
Accepting the flag tenderly set upon the lost who was found.
Sewn with victory, a beautiful color, and Heaven resounds.
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