1.20.12

"To the goldrush I must go", he said.
And I know he'll find his gold there
Find his luck bestowed there
And spend it all, both luck and gold
Til all I gave him's burned or sold
Even all his brothers
Who, in quiet nights without a bed
Opened bottles filled with dread
And to him in a whisper told
Of hungry mountains that kept our gold

"But still I must go," he said,
"You do not understand
The newness of the land;
That we now dig in richer mines
That must have scared you in your time,
But now are all secure.
And we are sure that in the lead
A purer ore and rock have stead,
And you know not what happy finds
I've seen with what you left behind."

"I do not know," I ponder this.
I yearn to tell him that he's wrong
And free an anger held so long,
But my words would fall on ears decieved
And spark no reason to believe.
I live in loathing love.
I wake and fear that with my kiss
He'll stab my open heart and his
I sit and fear that when reproved
He'll leave what he thinks he can bear to lose.

What do I tell him about the gold,
When his mind already stays there
And in the stench of death he prays there?
The blood of many men and mine
Have stained that jagged mountainside,
And some have never left.
In the darkest reaches of the cold,
We lied for warmth and hugged our gold.
Fear alone outweighed our hate
And empty eyes became our faith.

"To the goldrush I will go," he swears.
In dreams and thoughts he has control,
But he'll never leave there with his gold.
And I know the anger of the moans
That will plague the pleasure of being alone;
The tender burn of regret.