Saw I once a boy of Bronze
a kindred spirit he was
His bleeding fingers told stories
no matter how badly they were hurt
His art was made of Bronze
His pen
His mind
Alongside his love
He granted only to those who proved worthy
worthy of a piece of him
Physical vision faulty
but his vision into me clear
He kept on insisting
To hand me his Bronze
Initially I couldn’t accept such a thing
After coaxing me for some time,
I dare take it into my hands
And that Bronze shone over to become pure gold
A precious,
Precious gold
And only those who dig and dig
Could ever barely hope to find it.
I keep that gold in my heart,
And it looks to be but Bronze,
But nobody needs to know,
Besides me and my boy.