I will meet you at the end of your imagination
Where all your creativity has been used up
And the sky is white, and empty
And the grass stands stick straight in uniform
And the wind blows, but it moves nothing.
There, where everything is hopeless
And you’ve run out of time
And energy, and strength
And all you want to do is curl up
And block out the whiteness because you know
As hard as you try to stand
Nothing will change, it will all stay the same.
There, I will meet you.
And when I see you standing on the cliff
Overlooking the dead landscape
Of white, hopeless monotony
I will hand you a paintbrush
With bright orange paint.
And I will hold an identical one in my hand.
And the next time the wind that moves nothing blows
We will run with it, dragging our paintbrushes
We will paint the wind orange.
And everything it touches from then on
Shall be tinted with the burning of sunsets.
Then I will give you purple
And we will paint the trees
So every leaf that falls scatters the ground
With lush, seductive midnight.
Then the mountains will be red,
So when the snow from the tips melts
And runs down in furious rivers
The soil will absorb the fire and heat.
We will paint the grass and flowers blue
And let all their seeds scatter drops of sky
Across the landscape.
We will throw paint balloons of yellow
Up into the clouds
So when it rains, it is not water that falls
But tears of sunshine.  
And then,
I shall take every color of the world,
The new world that we have painted
And I shall paint you like a rainbow,
So wherever you step
You spread more and more color.
And we will decorate the end of your imagination.