FORSAKE THE FALSE RAINBOW

FORSAKE THE FALSE RAINBOW

I hold my rainbow close to my heart,
Yet closer still to my head.
Near to the brain where my hair used to part,
No more drinks of water, no more the lure of bread.

I hold my rainbow of visions floating beyond the sun,
Tired of this fractured fighting,
All is well inside this sighting,
The grim metallic prism of a gun.

I can see it clearly, my form on the floor,
My despair splattered like the blood on the walls.
I make my concessions to funeral processions,
The quiet of dimly lit burial halls.

I hold my rainbow here in my wrists,
Like two unwrapped packages with bow and sash.
Just take some pills and make a fist,
And take a long and luscious slash.

Those who say I had ice water flowing through these veins,
Could scrape the ice from off the floor, secure that they were right.
Where those who say I was a blue blood oblivious to pain,
Could hold their strange hypothesis to the new day and its light.
And those who claim I was good as gold would finally see the truth,
I was made of only flesh and blood and here’s your living proof.

And those who thought I was purple with passion,
Could scrape their way through the mosaic of my blood,
And look for flints of lavender on the ground where once I stood.
Some will say I died a broken man, and some will say it served me right,
That I had a queer agenda and was one unhappy shade of gay,
Some will say I embraced the end, rushing toward that blinding light,
Some will claim I was a bitter fool, who had to end his life his way.

I hold my rainbow close to my heart,
I treasure its beat alive in my breast.
Perhaps I am doomed before I start,
Life a bitchy proctor with its twisted little tests.
Heed what I am saying and read on to the end,
This fracture of faith is a passing weight,
It is not a stalwart or a happy friend.

In the end it is only me who knows what my true colors are,
And it is only me who knows my sunshine and my stars.
They say beware the vicious dog, they say beware false prophets,
Some voices ringing in my head are just as best forgotten.
Time to drink and time for joy, time to end the fast,
To give the pain its proper due then leave it in the past.
I swear I know not what I do, my world’s a broken mess.
Sometimes I’d love to take a repast in the waters of forgetfulness.

Yet even in my darkest hour, even in my frailest season,
I must find a sheltering bower, search my soul for a reason.
Find something bigger than myself to steel my bravery,
Throw off these shackles and these chains that speak of slavery.
Gather to my bosom all the colors I possess,
Hold them as a talisman against encroaching darkness.

Be it the comforting arms of a lover, or some greater higher goal
Shake off the malaise that has clouded my days, devoured my better soul.
Put down my gun and my trusty blades,
Say goodbye to the lure of nightshade.
Beware the devil in disguise, apparition without a soul,
Forego the fire to self destruct, forsake the false rainbow.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


NOTE: While this poem is not encouraging suicide (in fact suicide is the "false rainbow" referred to in the title) Parkinson's patients, myself included, often suffer incredible
depression. So do gays and lesbians, another segment of my audience, due to societal pressures and prejudice. If you feel vulnerable and need a nonjudgmental ear, please call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.