Old Neil crossed the ocean for it
Van Gogh died longing for it
Wars have been started because of it
Poe died poor and broken without it
Morrison had it but couldn’t grasp it
Shakespeare died with its taste in his mouth
His quill dripping with its potent potion
Its evasiveness lingers in my father’s eyes
I am pale and hollow without it
I’ve danced with it ...
Stared into convincing eyes
Yet I stand with empty hands
An empty heart
Many have traveled far and wide
And just as many will grow old
Searching
For a
"Heart of gold"