gold standard

Leave a comment

March 27 by The Running Son

gold standard

read a poem once that claimed
that nothing gold can stay.
how moments of sweet victory
drift off and wash away

from me. how infants eyes
slow change, blue to grey
or amber-green,
blue and pristine to the hazy

jitterlock we graduate to
in the post aftershock
of first punishments. How we spank
our blue eyes blank. rush in

so damn fast, bustin ankles.
last to claim responsibility
but first to take credit. how we bank
on our investments,

and treat them like debit.

 

 

 

by Jim Aldrich (:

©2013 JimAldrich

☀ ☁

All Poetry by RunningSon, aka Jim Aldrich

.namaste.   -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •-   .namaste.

Advertisements