Decisions

Staying gold

Folder: 
Old Poems



When we were young and everything was new,

We could do anything we wanted to do

Our spirits were golden,

Our minds were still free,

We could be anyone we wanted to be.

If we were laughed at, or if people stared,

We kept right on going, because we didn't care.

As we grow older we care what they say,

That's when we begin to pack on the clay.

Our clay is our armor; it shelters the gold,

It protects us from pain, but our spirit turns cold,

It keeps getting thicker until it swallows us whole,

Our bodies stay safe as we bury our soul.

It happens quite often without even a thought,

We try to be something, or someone we're not.

We have to decide that the armor can't stay,

We have to be strong; and take of the clay.

And if we are smart, before we're to old,

We must decide to show people our gold,

Because if you stay golden, and know who you are,

In this, or the next life, your soul will go far.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

inspired by the story of the golden Budah

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