He lived in the world of orange crayons.
Wandering streets
Made from colors that children swear are real,
Like moonbeam, sunshine, and thunderstorm.
Colors like joy and fear and bedtime.
Every scene of his life
A coloring book waiting to be filled in
By the colors he imagined.
He lived where the buildings
Were made of chocolate covered wishes and cotton candy dreams.
He lived in the world of orange crayons,
Arms outstretched as if welcoming the day,
For years he twirled, it seemed,
But he would never get dizzy.
He never got tired of the joy in the sunshine
Or his love of the moon
Who tucked him in every night.
He never wandered,
Never thought of the reasons why he chose that world
Instead of this one.
I would ask him to help me color the real pages,
But the colors here weren’t bright enough.
*I've written several versions of this poem, I think this is version three. This is my favorite right now.*
