Sometimes I dream of being golden.
A prized treasure in the eyes of someone.
Or to everyone old and young.
Coveted by all in mass of its glory,
But our dual faced similarities share and unfortunate story.
Gold, so worth it, fought over by many,
Yet, not knowing itself as a singular entity.
Causing enmity, causing enemy upon enemy to arise.
A disguise of glossy embers causing tremors.
A force of nature to be molded and shaped to one's desire,
Not having a single say before being held to the fire.
Flames of reprieve choking life, a golden leash.
Yes, I am golden yet untouched. Sacrificed to.
I'm sold to the highest bidder,
With the reality that they just want me to glitter and litter their loved ones with lies of false fame.
It's a game.
My name is brokenness.
Fakeness.
But when they see me and realize I'm worth nothing. I'm trashed.
Bound to fake freedom released at last,
To dwell among the fallen of the dead, the old.
For my worth is little, I'm a chemical chunk of fools gold.
So I dream on and to my dreams I'm holdin'
I'll never have the worth but at least to the eye I'll still look a bit golden.
YOU ARE READING
Final Page Poetry Vol. One
PoesiePoems written to open the eyes of the blind. The ones would want to see the truth of life around them while understanding the depths of their own souls and the fibers of their being. Trust your self and your heart. See your soul with your own eyes...
