dear mr and mrs travolta; not that you will ever read this, but here is a poem that goes out to your son and all the children of the world whose lives are cut short. its called RAINBOWS.
i like to manufacture rainbows.
for the children of the world.
i am the mysterious wizards who paints their faces
from their shadows on the walls.
against a backdrop of
colorful beasts in jungle scenes,
full of exotic colorful birds
and translucent meandering butterflies
poking fun at avacado streams winding their way through make-believe forests,
full of color combinations
that are seen only by the imaginations
of youthful innocence.
i like to pretend that red is blue
and green is orange
and that yellow isnt lying
when it says it’s purple.
for rainbows are for dreamers
who are palgued by confusion.
i like to paint one eye red and the other blue,
and tell all the children,
“your not differnt, your just you.”
i like to create rainbows
from the dust of the earth,
to make a world that is right for me.
full of smile balloons and circus clowns,
and bottle them up and fill them with helium,
and hand out to the children,
so they can pop the tops and drink it.
all the children talking like mickey mouse floating around in their colorful make-believe world
that innocence and dreams engulf
at the ends of rainbows.
thats the world for me.