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oh, if i had a covered wagon,
i’d  run my hands along the spokes of the wheel
sounding the drum, so to speak.

i’d drum for the nations to hear what only the mountains can speak
because only rhythm can convey that.
and once i found some companions that would continue the drumming,
i’d climb in the back of the wagon, sitting on the edge with my bare feet dangling,
where i’d sift for gold.

because that’s what i need.
something we all value, and though inert,
it’s a good conductor of energy which doesn’t corrode like so many other….
things do.

i’m done with alchemy and using my magic toward the unattainable magnum opus.
Gold. it’s already here. it’s tangible perfection.
and maybe it’s actually the right combination of noble rank and ductil, stress/strain response that can help stop my heart

from hardening.