PRISMS ...
PIECES OF RAINBOWS
that sings
inside all organisms.
Many societies try to
silence us
into schisms.
Our rainbow is the world
we color
in our custom fashion.
We paint from our
ocean brushing
to the motion
of our passion.
We polish our
priceless prisms
presenting all these
rainbow gems
as visions we've released
with artistic precision
into our poems.
We slide and stop
along our stripes
riding up and down
on peppermint streaks,
sunny streams,
and blase brown.
After every downpour,
there awaits a rainbow,
a sure promise of hope if
we can let it be so.
Why is one feeling all so very
temporary and superficial
while another is absolutely
absorbing, immortal ... special?
Why is this existence filled
with such ambivalence?
When we love what we hate,
where's the difference?
We yearn for
the extraordinary,
and we seek discovery
in mystery.
But it's actually there quietly
in life's simplicity
with computer and paper
we explore the intricacies
of our reality.
Silently death casts its
misty shadow;
we can hardly bear to let go
although we know
what will follow
at the end of
each and every
rainbow.