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Fool's Gold |
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by Niles |
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The dream of Midas beckons From the dusty baize The caverns of hidden stone They whisper Of wealth beyond dreams of avarice Of solitaire rewarded in spades Calling sweetly, madly, sirens of possibility drift Beautiful as endless room service Discordant, harsh caws of disaster crush sweet airs With punctuations of Hell, acrid and sour Rust-red iron mist overwhelms the odalisque perfumes Of sporting idylls It's dust and wind and fierce flesh in this heat Where wealth is another breath Another nod Another wisp of good will Is treasure to be weighed in paltry intangibles that cannot be savoured except in memory? Is gain to turn and find the shadows at one's back both anchoring and elevating beyond a single reach? Is wealth poured into the heart, rather than the pocket? Oh Mother, where now is my motherlode? My smile is all that remains to show I was once a man of means. The fool in the looking glass will not stop grinning. |