The rainbow in a stormed sky

 Brave and foolish youth,

The sun-baked verdance of curiosity,

The moth, the flame, the burning,

The rain of passion,

A riotous blizzard of emotions,

But the storms die,

The clouds get empty,

The skies clear,

Leaving a brief rainbow behind.

 

Love is a little arc,

a tiny rainbow,

It’s drawn between two points:

joy and ecstasy at one;

pain and tragedy at the other.