Right for me,
what is right for me?
The sting of lost faith
touches each tale
I’ve ever told. . .
Been told before-
I am not unique
I am a relative.
I’ve strung together
every sad story
turned to idol’s gold.
See, I am golden
in my mind,
no idol, but the
sun to shine
on wintry days decline.
I melt In The Atmosphere
of warmth
and almighty adoration.
