Poetry [Untitled Series] – 4

You chisel away at me until you get it to fit into a mould of you’re making.

Then you continue to chisel it.

You watched me break and bend and break and bend

Into the shape you wanted to make.

Blemishes and imperfections cured and purged and purified in fire and cold.

only to realise you can’t make gold into silver

And you decided that gold just wasn’t for you.

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Author: Specious Coda-Bishop

Blogger, Youtuber, Nerd.

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