Gold-Plated
Staring on with empty sight,
We can see but we are blind.
Fueling flames of hate and spite,
Judging all of humankind.
Thinking that true beauty is gold,
We are heartless, we are cold.
Beauty, however, is not gold-plated,
But it has now been contaminated.
Infected by all our pitiful fright,
Of how we are thought of or defined.
Superficial, black or white.
We will never find peace of mind!
Beauty, like everything, is vast,
And the magic fades too fast.
It will all soon be in the past.
Nothing remains, and nothing lasts.
Copyright © Ophelia Wallace | Year Posted 2016
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