Because we all know
what glitters may be not vibrant. May shine without soul.
May be easy to grasp and even easier to hole away
and whisper secrets to
on the off chance that
another shovel spade will go PING down the line and smash it apart.
The little secrets up again to the wind.
What glitters may not be vibrant. May shine without soul,
we all know.
May be difficult to grasp and more difficult still to hole away,
but will hold secrets when whispered to
on the off chance that
another finger tip will touch the lithic heap and fingers splay against
sun roasted surface.
The little secrets burning through,
unbreakable in the breeze that wicks sweat.
Because we all know:
What glitters may not be vibrant. May have no soul.
May be too large to fit in the palms of hands or hide
in a jacket pocket
on the off chance
the body is found.
The little secrets up again to the wind
for no one to know.
What glitters be not vibrant. Whisper gifted soul.
