You who ever makes a rainbow, what kind of
it will be?
Shall it become as pretty as a pink rainbow?
or a brighter shade of a blue rainbow?
As some sort of rainbow that has some kind
of pace that never quits the same trail to begin
with; or it ever has to be done requires
it much so, then where is my rainbow?
This is the kind of rainbow that never appears
as forth, so still it within my mind as to mix;
that we are without mixes as to begin without
a mad creature, so it a loving unforsaken,
shall we treat a rainbow as
such then?
No, because a rainbow is always an object,
that to will it to be unforeseen is to make
it unprepared for anything or everything
unbroken,
then we need to remake that part as solid,
as a fact, as a young thing unrequired for
fun or humor though as it is.
Such is a rainbow. Then will you be a rainbow
then? Or a good part of a rainbow at that
without colors or without solid objects, then
we will always be blind like the hues itself, since
without the hue we will never be able to quite
see the rain of the bows that struck your heart nor
mine, as thus: we always mind ourselves
throughout this fact, mindful of what the
question is, thus, shall it begin to be seen
as a rainbow then?
What color? Red? Orange? Yellow?
Green? Blue? Indigo? Violet?
Then we see it rearranged in the sky like
a hopeful poem; there it will be struck out
in the white, as the only void to your eyesight.
