They Know No Better Way
They know no better way
than weighing their pain on a scale of authenticity.
counting their sorrows in gold
writing their suffering at face value
They submitted themselves to the cycle
A mountain of tainted diamonds climbed up and tumbled down.
Repeated again and again with the same desire for validation.
Someone showed them that their scars were worth more than how they wore them.
Told them they could sell their soul for a map to the inbetween.
A balanced scale.
Sad to think that all great things must come crumbling down.
How long can they carry on shouting their torment from the tops of mountains before making the final tumble?
The same unconditional yet blind love isolating them on the fall.
I bet their coin packed pockets spill out across the mountainside before hitting the bottom.