Gold doesn’t elbow it’s way onto your front door
It doesn’t scream it’s own name in throbbing lights
at night in city squares
It doesn’t drip down television screens pleading for recognition
No, gold waits
Gold sits with his head held high
But his body down in mud
He finds a bed at sea just as comfortable
there, in the dark deep
as he does old, forgotten heaps
of pillaged treasures
or the velvet pillows that support his form
contorted around bright gems and pearls
in palace throne rooms
He knows nothing and no one can take away his identity
even on the off chance they didn’t recognize him
He’s elemental
and you love him for his service
He lives to serve
For in service he is glorified