Ryley Clarke
On a slab of pure gold
I carve so intricately the image of my sister
Requiring no reference to do so
She is the golden girl
The one of the stars and the sun
The yellow tips of hot embers
For even in my most disgusting of times
Where even the silvered mirror cannot embrace my image
I only must look up
As other’s do
To the golden skies who have the answers
And if not, then maybe only their warmth
Their beauty
Will inspire the wisdom from within