Costume Gem

It seems my only hope in life

Is living like a costume gem,

To ornament a theater knife

Or glitter in a plastic ring.

I cannot last past any strife;

I shatter at the slightest thing,

But even though I am of glass

I glitter with the light I fling

Across the halls through which I pass,

And in the hand I have the feel

Of ruby’s cool and queenly mass

And though I am worth naught to steal

I look like emerald to the one

Whose heart does not yet bear the seal

That must by money’s law be won.

For those who do not care for gold

And let their eyes across me run

Will find though I for dirt am sold

I have the sparkle of a star

And shine like amber’s embers bold.

In value I do not go far,

But one would not have thought it so

If they could see the way I spar

With pearls for their royal glow.

In all respects but for my worth

I put in just as good a show

As every diamond mined on earth - 

And mine is not a past of blood,

But joy, as traders laughed in mirth,

That born from humble gravel’s bud

Could bloom a thing whose life is cheap,

Whose replica could come from mud,

That makes unwary misers weep

As tearfully as any jewel,

And as my price is not so steep,

The cost they pay is not so cruel.

But equally I win their hearts;

Alongside costly gems I rule;

The grand illusion only parts

If I should ever be appraised.

But if no cruel appraisal starts,

My value will be only raised,

As I am rarely noticed from

The gems at which they raptly gazed.

But still at times the wardens come

And see my value is not true,

And I admit, my manner glum,

The shameful truth I always knew:

That I am sand, and worth as much,

A thing of glass, and worthless through,

And I recoil against their touch,

And clasp my spirit’s final shreds

Against my heart and cry, and such

Becomes my mood; my mantle sheds,

And I lie still and long to die - 

Amidst that grim sepulcher’s beds

They would not try to find my lie;

No more would they embarrass me

Or wither me and make me cry

About the fact I lack the key

Requirement of worth to shine

In high esteem for queens to see

With all the passion that is mine

Upon some praised and noble crown.

But still the keepers hold the line

That, unrelenting, strikes me down

And keeps me from the palace gates,

And mocks me with a leering frown,

Or laughs until my sob abates

And I may stagger to my grave

And all the shame that there awaits

That I have failed to even save

The slightest sense of costumed grace

That still my broken spirits crave,

For which I run this wretched race

To someday seem like something real

And someday all my flaws erase

So I no longer have to steal

Those silent hours of the night

Where I can dream and almost feel

Like I am pretty, I am right

And I no longer have to wake

With dread to see the haunting light

That tells me harshly my mistake - 

In truth I am a worthless shard,

A thing of glass, a filthy fake,

That chips with ease, is justly scarred,

The sort of thing that makes one laugh

With rightful glee to see it marred.

For I am still just folly’s gaffe,

A semblance that deserves to break,

Not opal’s worth, or even half,

A con who simply tries to take

An honor I do not deserve

And so in doing I forsake

The truth from which I should not swerve

That I am worthless, valued not,

Disposable, yet still I serve

The interest for a fleeting spot

In moments where the mind is bored

And nothing better can be got.

For then alone should I award

Myself the honor of this use,

And even then, I must not hoard

My joy; I owe that to my muse,

The gem of which I am a mock,

Which shaped my ugly grains diffuse,

And made me pretty, to my shock,

A thing that I am proud to be,

And though I am a common rock

I look at me and gladly see

The pretty thing that I am not,

And seeing it, I feel the glee

Of being what I always sought

To someday, finally become,

And though my heart was always taught

To temper hope that will not come,

I still exalt, and argue this:

Why must I care what I am from?

In doing so, I surely miss

The fact that I bring just the joy

That topaz does; if I dismiss

The thought that I am just a toy,

Then surely I am just as good

As amethyst, though rather coy

In showing that my value should

Be reckoned like I am for real,

For surely my material would

Not fully ruin my appeal;

To value polished glass is wise,

For those who choose in glass to deal

Shall find me just as great a prize

As something many times my cost,

They get the joy, and I surmise

That much less money then is lost

Than buying tourmaline and jet - 

No treasury do I exhaust,

No money on my worth is bet,

And yet the want for things that shine

With me can be as fully met.

So see that only value mine

In every plastic-sequined hem,

In flowers fake, that thrive in brine,

And every noble wire stem.