Gold

Silence is golden, they say. They don't tell you that gold is not a bubble but a shatterproof cage: a prison sanctuary for fragile birds. They don't tell you that gold is a burden to be carried, always: as impenetrable from within as from the outside. They don't tell you that gold is a glorified fun house mirror: distorting every action to perfection. They don't tell you that gold is a broken walkie-talkie: a one-way filter for words. They don't tell you that gold is a mask: so that where there is a soul in need of consolation there appears only intricately curved metal: the mesmerizing, deflective, flawless, and thoroughly non-human gold that you yourself have wrought.