Everyone
loves rainbows and sunshine
When we were not afraid to fight
For something extraordinary
Something
not black and white
Paths
are created from pencil sketches
Vaguely
formed, but not all are permanent
They
always end with a crock of gold
Starting
colorless, flowing along the steady current
Bottles
of paint are tossed into the wagon you pulled
Sealed
with a warning, and never dared to use
Exhausted,
you reach the top and look around you
Everywhere is covered in black, white, grey and blue
There
are no rainbows, nor are there crocks of gold
Move
on? No, your soul is too tired and numbed
Go
on, because lost doesn't mean an all-time low
It just means that the right color has yet to be found