Such childless and clueless fools,
That it makes me fall into laughter
To think that men still search high and low
For the gold they've always been after.
And how jealous, I'm sure, they all would be
If they found that swirling in this glass
Is liquid gold that makes me one
With the writers of ages past.
Silence is golden, or so they say,
But this gold I own births words.
For one thin river down my throat
Flow out words that have never been heard.
Still the voices in my head warn of addiction.
But perhaps their thirst is great as mine.
Is not that how i started drinking gold?
I could no longer quench them with wine.
I am always alone, so it seems
So nobody sits in my path
Of things I could potentially hurt
If I have more than one glass.
So I will continue with liquid gold,
Feeding my paper with words,
Until my eyes are filled with tears
And my poems turn into lines blurred.