Gold

I am hot or cold
depending on your breast
I can grow old
but I cannot tarnish.
Alone, I'm the best-
needless of bead and varnish
Bend me, I'll bend
Dilute me with other elements
I'll just get stronger
more pliant, even, maybe, longer.
I am heaven sent
my glint survives the dame
I'm buried with. Your bones may break
but never mine.
Changing, I stay the same;
Loaded with stones
I'll take them, make them
mine-see how they shine!
But I've a limit, too.
I can gather dust but never rust
for put me in your drawer:
let ten minutes, ten years pass-
as before I am
a simple, complex thing-
but never fear
I'll ring for you and be
forever, truly true.

poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!