There's a display caseThat we all carry around.This is the burden we proudly hold:Our hordes of gold and gems,Our pebbles, andOur tools:Our handaxes, our flints,And our knives.But there are other, secret stones.There's a chest we hold insideWhere we horde our secret stones.Some stones are light as air.They float on top, ready to be seenAt the instant the chest is opened.Anyone who asks might see them,But they crumble at a single touch.And inside we horde our silver,Tarnished by the stale air,Waiting to be cleanedAnd displayed again.There are stones of vibrant red,Pretty in the daylightWhich we hide:They are poison to the touch,Waiting to be cast away.But some stones glimmer only in the dark.With a lustre that betrays their natureMarring our secret chestThey offer nothing as they sit,Black gold,Waiting to burn and provideTheir dying light.This is the burden we carryIn our chests.Every stone,From the tainted to the pure.Every gem,Every tool:This is the burden we bear.
Artist: Jeremy McCandlish
School: North Allegheny
One Sunday evening, I was bored and wrote this spontaneously. I then tweaked it and tweaked it some more, and now I am submitting it here. The tweaks I applied were purely aesthetic, so I'm not entirely sure if this is some deep, rich metaphor about life or a load of nonsense that sounds pretty in my head. On the other hand, that's true of everything I say.
Anyhow, first submission. Critique, attack, criticize, decapitate, dissect, disembowel, defenestrate, do whatever you want with it.