Dancing in an age of weathered gold

We watch the polished surfaces erode

Showered by the dust of sunlight spurned

Cliquant in all the things we let them burn

At hand a silver lining pulled too tight

Holding on to what reflects the light

The image of a truth too dark to see

This weathered age falls into entropy

The shining flakes of what we were

Lay in piles on the floor

Chipped away

There they stay

Evidence that gold can gleam once more.