Looking into that silver has never felt like gold.
In fact it is more like looking at an empty galaxy
Sparse freckles creating lonely constellations,
A head round like the moon
Crowned in an aurora borealis
Of fine highlighted hair that dances without rhythm.
All of this orbiting life's golden rays
As time and lives fly by alarmingly,
And fingers grasping at the both
I feel the cold dark space between the constellations
With heightened awareness and fear
Of what being mortal means.
But when I turn away from fear
And study the brilliance without the hourglass's shadow
I feel the closest to gold I ever will.
And then my eyes are full of stars.