We are afraid to let the thing go
and hence we create document,
a faded two-bit paper,its scrawl
from left to the top right corner.
upward since we are ambitious
and walk about in heads raised.
we do not look down upon gold.
we carry all our stones on fingers.
our streets are paved with gold
and yet we are not looking down.
we are mildly amused by a dog,
at the nearby lamppost on gold.
our deaths fade like old clothes
but a document stays with time
buried in the bowels of the earth.
hopefully someone digs to find it.