Hearts are cast in spun gold,

life moves in reversal.

The cup closes in on itself,

hurt and loss, universal.

 

The brave knight risks all,

mapping the winding paths,

lost and confused, tiring,

he fights endless battles of old.

 

Rust turns gold to base metal.

 

There is no mystery here.

The philosophers stone,

well worn and smoothed,

tumbled by time,

rolled and burnished in tides,

lies at his feet unnoticed,

until he looks down and knows.

 

His armour thrown aside,

he sees through the eyes of kindness.

 

Enemies are only hurt children

grown and casting wild arrows.

There is no evil hiding in woods,

only  spirits, frightened.

The world has a deeper meaning.

 

Looking again he sees blessings,

losses turn into lessons,

the balm of a deeper healing.

Love was the key he needed;

the heart is opened by seeing.

 

Base metal returns to gold