I'm proud to say that I figured out
Where the corner piece is
That fills out that puzzle
Of a blood red farm, with a haystack,
And a glistening sun.
A life we only see in loathing.
A shelf too high
For our stubby arms
To reach.

A table covered with chase
And playing cards
Plays the gatekeeper
For stories I've never heard before.
Blank cheques and white space.
Room for error
Room for improvement.

Shallow gold doesn't exist
And its never worth much anyway.
Whats real lies far
Under the mud.
And if you find it
You dont let it go.