Rainbows

Rainbows

At the rainbow’s origin all is strife.
Dream’s to fruition as they burst,
hope is dashed before the knife.

Masses lost left parched with thirst,
reside to pass at Pandora’s whim,
and god’s leave to rot, the softly cursed.

The cold and lost are there to skim,
those who look up to mend.
Throngs of faceless heads look on, quite grim.

Clever and stooped never to blend,
as they seek life’s gold.
that is not at the rainbow’s end.

j.hobbs, 02/08