Sunday, November 14, 2010

I, Midas

I touched an oak twig and stone
One day to see them turn to gold.

The curse, this Midas touch
However was not new.

Everything throughout my life –
Had become a statue in some way.

The emptiness of gold
Was evident in all relationships.

My hands touched friends, romantic interests
And they went away.

My family I embraced but
To have them disappear.

Their gilded shines remained, of course
In memories as if they were the twig and stone –

But that is all they are,
All they are.

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