A freeing, I imagine, is the gift we’d gift eachother
Leave the striving and othering to striving others grasping for some brass ring
Leave the grasping to the ocean waves that want more of the shore
A new ocean and eachother’s, I know…gold rings…free
This she has resolved
Shine spilled everywhere
There is thisI want at once to show you
All of what I know of the day
The real-deal of it, how harsh it can be
How often, if we don’t look close
It presents as something to be endured
Suffered through, something to be wished
Away
This morning seemed that way
Then in a instant, struck me as instead
Commissioned
So be it, I say
Notice now the grandeur of it
A delicacy to be treasured or consumed
Have it your way
Either way, notice the gold
The encrusted shell of jewels
A Fabergé gift it is, to be opened
An outrageous little surprise inside
A sly creature, crowned in your birthstone
Peering out a tiny window
White it rains diamonds
Inside
We wonder about whether to pursue the gold, giv’n to many of us as our birthright.
What of the cost, where ought we place it for safekeeping?
Sometimes wisdom begs, shouldn’t we be satisfied with silver?
Eureka! I thought this morning so loud you surely heard me.
Is the gold we claim our own? Increasingly we learn…it’s all somebody else’s alloy. An alchemist had been before us. Pouring trickery, then pulling heartstrings.
I, myself, thank the illusionist for that sweetest Summer. Warm, golden, nothing but refreshing theory. I laugh now and see the moving, invisible hand.
Take we back our minds and hearts. Go forth to the drivers seat, the miner’s pick-ax in hand. Seek silver!
You’ll be frozen in time
And if the past may serve
As an indication
I’ll be hurled forward, upward
With lightning’s speed
I at ninety-something years
And you at something less
(Though an old soul nonetheless)
Staring at my golden scraps
Through your monocle glass
What words are we, then
What sounds, what sights
What wrongs did we choose to correct
What hands did we not fail to hold
What love, of only this, I’m sure
We are the color, the canvas
The breadth, the reach
And the Want-To-Be-Betters
The silver that should never be picked from the gold and painted over
my Society
thought little of me
accept the breadcrumb trail
beg for a Holy Grail
return home empty handed
scraps to be demanded
now I know what’s true
honor is for me too
my heart the goldest medal
demands that I not settle
Laugh with me
Help me grow old
Ease me with tales of your gold
Tell me the story of each piece of silver
Their meaning each treasure to you
Laugh with me
Help me embrace
The glitter life’s splayed ‘cross my face
Tell me you’ll seek me, need me, keep me
As we walk in our soul’s shoes
LisaRosier.com 