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The Gold
So often you look right past me.
Building a pedestal on which to behold him
Has rendered you an absentee,
Frenzied to find fanciful ways to uphold him.
Well, I have already forgotten more than he knows,
And judging from the present such will surely remain.
The inherent lack of substance most glaringly shows,
And where it glistens is where you took leave of your brain.
He sizzles, but will flare up, burn hot and be gone
Long before I have my best day.
Will you still remember your deficient Don Juan
As you queue up for my soiree?
For now I must watch the pretty boy win
Knowing that the gold always lies within.
