It’s the ghastly image of gold,
The lingering levity of passion sold…
Your soul! The passive frame
That, within, holds your shame,
Built of bitter, unbenevolent stewing,
The storm’s eternal brewing…
But gold! Gold keeps your eyes apart,
Gold may always hold your heart.
Aye, it is a dastardly demon within
Who paws at strings with a growing grin—
And causes the loathsome ache,
Just so he may laugh and see you wake.
That malignant fiend—with pride—beams!
As he casts himself within your dreams,
You have become his favorite toy—
Which he puppeteers with twisted joy.
It is a treasure trail of gold you follow—
It is gold that preens the pride you swallow.
Gold unearthed to forge the wedding band—
Gold in the ring, of he who holds that hand.
DannYetman
www.yetmanpoetry.blogspot.com
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