I, a dusty piece of gold
standing on the lattice, peering
searching for a token of life
when suddenly the rustling steps
recklessly electrifying the outgrown grass on my doorstep
and I,
half-existent
half-hope
imprisoned in a cage of oblivion
but listen, thief
as you despise the dust on my skeleton
I'll hang your laughs on the walls
where lilies will grow from the echoes of your fingers
catch the breeze that tickled your cheek
and throw it in a jar to color the void
I'll knit a ghost out of your grimaces
that will keep me company when the space thrives
and your odor that's time-challenging
It belongs to the days of yore
The days where poets were to rule the world
and a blow in the dust brought life back to life

*Parting from the strings of liberty;
the gold misses its thief.