This is a process poem. The chosen words are below my writing.
What are you but a rainbow, so conspicuous and bright?
Ostentatiously flaunting your colors into the night?
The star speckled heavens, ebony black and glittering above,
Your foes but vacant corpses that were longing for love.
Torn and tattered they wait here and there,
The shreds of their capes no longer radiant, but bare.
Their pasts are gone, you had turned their world into on of isolation,
They wore their masks, bleak and starving like a haitian.
The shrapnel from impact had ruined your facade with a zing,
And you fly about, much like a pig on the wing.
The sheet of rain that had cascaded in your arrival,
Shrouded their humbled gaze like a blustery nival.
The blemishes that you had left on their faces are gone, they are free,
The looming ashes rise, seizing you before you could flee.
Your heart flutters and squirm as the heroes emerge and you cry,
But really in the end you were a nothing but a hornet, just another pesky fly.