There is gold
at the end of the rainbow

It isn't the kind you think
nothing you can deposit in the bank

The earth's atmosphere becomes the prism
Separating light
into streaks of colors

It has to storm first
It has to be destructive
violent

Winds that tear apart the silence
hidden beneath the floor
where secrets lie
and fester
and become evil demons

with pain
anger over nothing

All the colors dressed in black

until we wash them away

with forgiveness
understanding
Love

My son wrote me a letter

He forgave me
for the childhood storm
I placed him in

The violence that I didn't cause
but didn't leave

The poverty
the times he went hungry

The scared little boy
who stood up to the bully
but was knocked down
by simply asking for food

The daily thunderstorm we lived in

The hopelessness of dark clouds that hid the sun

The silence, not allowed to laugh

The children devoid of color
not able to be seen

until we left

and one by one
the colors appeared

Green was first
Nature revisited

Blue followed
The skies were clear

Yellow blossomed
Growth resumed

Red emerged
Vibrant and alive

and at the very end of the arch
Gold shimmered

A new story
illustrated in shades of life

Began