Gold
I hope to be known
to be shown
to have grown
to be known
I wonder what is to come of me
a piece of dust
swirling in the wind
wondering, wandering
I envision a history
marked by my books
shifted by ideas I’ve patented
I envision,
it’s merely a vision
I see I am smoke
dissolving to nothing,
unnoticed,
not changing a thing
I see I’m in a coffin
decaying, no longer saying
a word nor doing a thing,
my writings remain
I watch my words read.
I see them distorting,
I see them retorting,
“It’s not how it seems!”
I see the earth burning
the fires embracing
all that has been
to no longer be.
I hear a gentle stream;
from it, saints are lapping
reviving their immortal souls
by the Living Water
I look at my garment
a radiant white
adorned with metals the likeness of gold
yet familiar,
as if purged by the prayers
and the petitions of old.
* * * * *
This is the second part of my series Vanity and Value. Before I post an explanation of this poem, I’d like to ask, what do you see as vain in this poem, and what is the answer to that vanity?
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