There is no greater gold in this world than another person’s trust.
Yet mine was given freely to anyone who would but ask.
A thousand thrusts of a knife was my eagerly awaited award.
Yet I returned time and again to the beast that would bite me;
For there is nothing in this world that will horrify you more
Than fear; to be afraid of being alone.
I sold my heart on the darkened streets of life
That someone might see it, and through seeing give me value
And through value give me meaning; oh, temporary fleeting meaning.
For value cannot be given; it can only be held.
But all a man values he will give
For one thing in return; acceptance.
As I sat on the street corner, clutching the heart which no-one would notice
I cried aloud, louder, and louder.
But the louder I cried, the quieter I became.
For I was a din, a racket, the roaring of an engine that passes without notice.
For the louder one weeps, the more their tears become one
With the rain on the streets, which flows into the careless gutter.
And, most bitter irony, little did I know
That there was one who would have accepted me for all I was
Without biting, without payment, my cries would be heard.
Meaning and value would overflow like milk and honey
Little did I know, it was me all along.
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 5:40 PM UTC
There is no greater gold in this world than another person’s trust.
Yet mine was given freely to anyone who would but ask.
A thousand thrusts of a knife was my eagerly awaited award.
Yet I returned time and again to the beast that would bite me;
For there is nothing in this world that will horrify you more
Than fear; to be afraid of being alone.
I sold my heart on the darkened streets of life
That someone might see it, and through seeing give me value
And through value give me meaning; oh, temporary fleeting meaning.
For value cannot be given; it can only be held.
But all a man values he will give
For one thing in return; acceptance.
As I sat on the street corner, clutching the heart which no-one would notice
I cried aloud, louder, and louder.
But the louder I cried, the quieter I became.
For I was a din, a racket, the roaring of an engine that passes without notice.
For the louder one weeps, the more their tears become one
With the rain on the streets, which flows into the careless gutter.
And, most bitter irony, little did I know
That there was one who would have accepted me for all I was
Without biting, without payment, my cries would be heard.
Meaning and value would overflow like milk and honey
Little did I know, it was me all along.
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