The Price of Gold

I was late because I fell into a hole.

I was desperately searching for glimmers

and someone was digging for gold.

The hole and I both were open.

Bewitched by an aureate portal,

I heard silence, felt folds of calm

as a force gripped my arm.

It pulled me in close as we sealed our deal.

I was handed my ticket and boarded

the plane with the flatworms and sewer rats.

Synthetic holidays are not spent 

with those that you love or are loved by.

The pilots are always so calm;

they flee from the plane before take off

and they never look up as your world

grows smaller and disappears.

I rose to the golden dust clouds

where there is nothing but everything is felt.

And diamonds are set in nihility mounts

as I tendered myself to be burned.

I breathed where the air is the thinnest

and bathed in rays of an uncharted light.

The sun or something more divine

even than that?

Fly with us again, they say.

But the mud catches you on the way down

and it’s the kind that never comes off.

People look at you and they know.

You soon learn that this plane always crashes 

but you board it again and again.

Until all you have to show for it 

are your bones.