'Purple Haze'

Went crazy – yesterday,
the day they said you died.
Saw your face in a cloud
and all around a purple haze.

Kind of weird, sort of strange;
were you happy or sad?
Either way, it blew my mind,
and to your question, my reply.

For you, it is the end of time;
while farmers dug your earth
po-faced women wept,
and sharp-suited gents
toasted you with the fruit
of your vine.

Both the joker and the thief
spoke kindly of you, and each
fell silent at your grave...save
the wild-cat that growled
and the wind – howled ‘Mary’.

All that remains – to sweep
the fragments of your shell
with a birch-twig broom,
as sleep the clowns in their beds
and Jacks in their boxes too.

Though it’s true you were wise
some things you never knew...
how all the traffic lights
turned blue, and from the cloud
that was you fell purple rain.

And the wind cried your name,
along with many from the past –
vowed yours would be the last
it would remember.

All along the watch-tower,
footsteps dressed in red.
The women came and went
and the prince wept
for a king without a queen.

Two horsemen rode by;
barefooted servants drank
the dregs of your wine
and I watched you kiss
the sky, as the wind
bore you away.