Dr. Robin Witmer-Kline, “Behind the Gold”

I touched it once, with fingertips,
Too clumsy for a grasp
I had it for a moment
Like drinking poisoned flask

.


Exchange my soul for promises
Required barter’s band
From Mayan tombs the gold was dug
For diamonds African

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Precisely fit to finger size
The liquid turned to sphere
No Alpha, no Omega,
Could make this prize adhere

.


Though time could never sweep the shine
From gold to black – I saw
Omniscient– with sight behind
The love that wasn’t spent

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All riches do not yield reward
A soul may come up poor
Unless the gift behind the gold
Is made of purest ore