Five years hiding
preparing and binding
reading and writing
Five years bent over old crumbling scrolls
weaving old words into wards
molding spells of fire and lightning

Five years  plotting underground
in an unending round
of clandestine sabotage
with knives and lies

Five years to find men and women,
willing to help him atone
and the tyrant to overthrow
Five years to forge
them the swords and axes
shields and armour
that would crash and crack,
splinter and shatter edge to edge
for the sake of
his soul

Five years to the day,
the bells and trumpets rang
The horns were blown
and drums beaten
The earth was shaken
as the host marched forth

Five years to the day
the banners were flown
and in defiance of the dark king
the white pennants bore a fiery eye

At its head hooded
strode a man with a glowing staff
unbent unbroken and unbowed
proud, determined and uncowed
ready now at last

Worth a lot--
Yellow, Shiny, Metallic,
Gold.
Yet no one wants me,
Left over,
Saved,
But no longer necessary to keep.
Yes,
Worth more than what
Is esteemed to be,
But not useful.
Wanted,
But not for what I am.
They want a change,
They no longer want me.
So I wait,
Just to be thrown
Into their fiery furnace again,
To be burned.
But what am I?

Gold.