KINGDOM OF GOLD
In the kingdom of gold,
the currency is old
folded in notes of love,
a blind exchange
of fear and rage
where head-stamped coins
swap speech and groin,
grasping through miasma
of iconic gloom.
Yet castles built
still of finer sand
surely wash to silt
as tides will rise.
(Yes, tides, will rise).
Step over false kingdom,
beloved, take heart
in the fluid law
of statutory wilderness.
Listen to the pulse
of a silent sign,
deep in the belly of man.
Leave dreaming spires behind,
fly over thunders of lies
and out through infinity of skies.
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