Intimate Truth

Opulence can't acquire it, Not even a fragment of its entirety, A priceless gem, The sun's light doesn’t aid its radiance. Unplugging from it, Makes the soul a junkyard, Like playing with the wrong card, The mess can’t be excused. Its light filters through, Its bearer sees the hidden path, Twilight becomes a book, The eyes are not scared to look. It’s a silver lining that comes with age, It apparels the sage, It’s a priceless gift, Wisdom paddles the soul away from rift. May 12, 2023. Pick-A-Title, Vol 36 - Poetry Contest, Edward Ibe.