Fools Gold
It’s been three weeks since I lost my voice in the crowd. If love will have me silent, I embrace my inner mute. People speak of heartbreak, moving on, finding alternate existence but not enough of a mended heart. Whatever becomes of the mended heart? If mine was not sufficiently fixed the first time, I pray it is truly broken now. Shattered porcelain, Humpty Dumpty. Thud.
Why is it that when you walk along, minding your business, the strangest unexpected things catch your eye? Sometimes throwing itself at you like a homeless person flung against your windshield, ready to spit and shine your perfectly polished car in chaotic traffic on the off chance there will be a buck or two at the end of the delinquent service. Flash! Bam! Alakazam!
Chance.
Red lights.
2 minutes.
Homeless.
Fools Gold.
Sometimes all we really want is something to believe in. Even when we think we know better, we still require something to take up our time. You know, like that space left uninhabited by your reluctance to attend any kind of religious service or conform to any one idea by a self acclaimed servant of the all mighty, with more propaganda for badges than a Girl Scout selling cookies.
So we pray and worship our own idols. We can’t help it, it’s who we are, it’s how we are. Reality isn’t something we do well. And so, even though you probably couldn’t care less that my opinions would quake your world and convert you to my devotion, I still hold on for the chance that perhaps someday, you’ll let me make you. Happy.
For you, I will sit in the background, unnoticed; walk the silent mile with laboured mute breath. If it pleases you, I’ll reserve my opinion for dreams only I can lay witness to, and in public, I’ll wear that cloak. Invisible.
If it makes you happy, I’ll conserve your stories, corroborate your false truths, denounce my faith and worship only you. Yours. For tithes I’ll bring gifts of my soul, for offering I’ll present you my sheathed Queendom, I’ll be your faithful concubine, bless my altar. For steadfast devotion, I’ll make oaths to keep your words sacred and away from blasphemous lips. If it makes you happy, betrayal will never cross your mind.
Disappearing for you. Submissive for you. The dowry has been paid what matters now isn’t that I am human but that I am useful. When you wish it so. So what if I am lost and the only things that find me are my own weak tears. I have your faith and that is all I should require.
Why is it that when you walk along, minding your business, the strangest unexpected things catch your eye? Sometimes throwing itself at you like a homeless person flung against your windshield, ready to spit and shine your perfectly polished car in chaotic traffic on the off chance there will be a buck or two at the end of the delinquent service. Flash! Bam! Alakazam!
Chance.
Red lights.
2 minutes.
Homeless.
Fools Gold.
Sometimes all we really want is something to believe in. Even when we think we know better, we still require something to take up our time. You know, like that space left uninhabited by your reluctance to attend any kind of religious service or conform to any one idea by a self acclaimed servant of the all mighty, with more propaganda for badges than a Girl Scout selling cookies.
So we pray and worship our own idols. We can’t help it, it’s who we are, it’s how we are. Reality isn’t something we do well. And so, even though you probably couldn’t care less that my opinions would quake your world and convert you to my devotion, I still hold on for the chance that perhaps someday, you’ll let me make you. Happy.
For you, I will sit in the background, unnoticed; walk the silent mile with laboured mute breath. If it pleases you, I’ll reserve my opinion for dreams only I can lay witness to, and in public, I’ll wear that cloak. Invisible.
If it makes you happy, I’ll conserve your stories, corroborate your false truths, denounce my faith and worship only you. Yours. For tithes I’ll bring gifts of my soul, for offering I’ll present you my sheathed Queendom, I’ll be your faithful concubine, bless my altar. For steadfast devotion, I’ll make oaths to keep your words sacred and away from blasphemous lips. If it makes you happy, betrayal will never cross your mind.
Disappearing for you. Submissive for you. The dowry has been paid what matters now isn’t that I am human but that I am useful. When you wish it so. So what if I am lost and the only things that find me are my own weak tears. I have your faith and that is all I should require.
