by Ben Szwediuk



Who needs a rainbow,
when the shower of our tears,
refracts no light nor halo
for our dwindling empty years?

Too many bewitched by apparition,
few unmoved by trick of light.
Where substance fails to satisfy,
we yearn for shallow sights.

It's touch that placates the longing,
and orchestrates the song,
of what our feeble hands can create,
and of what lies beyond.

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