dust to gold
ღ. wasn’t a
(again and again)
▂▃▅▇█▓▒░in the fiery furnace░▒▓█▇▅▃▂
☆:*´¨`*:.•.¸¸.•´¯`•.♥ She was merely refined. ♥.•´¯`•.¸¸.•..:*´¨`*:.☆
.: : ...’..:
: : .‘:’ .: ’.; : :
⋆ ✧✵ + · ✧ .
+ ☆ * ✵ * ⋆.☄
★ * gold. * ★
* . * ✦ +
☆ ° ✧ · ✵ *
(And that’s the girl I wanna be.)
Heart Of Gold
I know life is not perfect
I am aware of the pain needed to get what you’re after
And I can understand that not everything works out
I’ve seen it all before
Nothing I’m not used to
My heart has been shattered and broken
Cut and burned
It has cracked and died
But, even after all that
I always manage to get back up
And fix what they broke of me
My heart is not made of steal
Not made of stone
Not made of glass
And not made of bone
《 I have a heart of gold 》
Beautiful yet strong
Cunning yet expensive
I know what I can do
And I don’t care that I bearly survive their vemon
I will get back up
I will walk through the fire with nothing but myself if I have to
Pain will not stop me
Fear will not stop me
I will carry on through this storm
And you will never see me shatter
Because of my heart of gold
I know I will
To the girls with hearts of smoke and dust-
battlefields of bone and rust-
I know it hurts.
And they say you're stronger for it,
as if heartbreak
is the most interesting thing about you-
but there are no victors in war.
Not even him,
the boy with the golden heart
and cruel hands.
His gilded heart is
peeling at the edges now,
and underneath there is
only stale air
and broken promises.
(they look so pretty there, wrapped in gold.)
but there is no love.
This is no place for a battlefield heart, darling girl.
I just hope you know
that some people
are not worth fighting for.
morning in the heart of the boardwalk
the sun brushes the horizon.
the horizon shatters into sea.
a dead seagull stretches on the baked sand,
flies warring over the eye sockets,
and in mourning, the world
melts into gold.
she’s so pretty.
the way her hair catches the morning sunlight,
created to be kissed by her skin.
her kisses taste like those pink sunrises the turn you into
something more than just someone on the beach at 6 am
Granny had a heart of gold, she wouldn’t hurt a fly.
But the dear could not help everyone, no matter how she tried.
Up late one night and couldn’t sleep, she turned the TV on
And caught the end of “Prayer Time,” with Reverend Jesse John.
Granny watched the preacher tell a tale about a friend,
A goodly lad, who knew no bad, and never tried a sin.
He didn’t drink, nor smoke, nor cuss, this good man that he knew,
but only worked, and never shirked a Sunday in the pew.
And how the Reverend Jesse John did work for Granny’s heart,
Expounding tales of woes and jails with histrionic art.
He mined that heart, and dug its gold, and never cared a bleep,
that the check she sent was for her rent, and put her in the street.
But dear old Granny, bless her soul, has found her angel’s wings
all the joys that heaven holds, are in the song she sings
While one mistake became the fate of the Reverend Jesse John
A plain mistake, anyone could make, unwound his holy con.
The reverend never dodged the IRS, nor feared the courts.
He thought himself above all earthly judges torts.
But justice always finds a way, and evil always hangs.
For you see, Granny’s grandson led a bad-ass biker gang!
Vengeance comes in many forms, it always finds the few
who think they are above it, who think that they can do
anything to anyone, impune from all impass,
but The Reverend Jesse John had vengeance shoved right up his...
my heart may be gold
but it's a curse
the truth is
i can't feel anything.
Great Aunt and Uncle
When little, once, I stayed abroad,
In my Great-Aunt’s abode.
Gold hearted, she kept up the house;
She cooked, and cleaned, and sewed.
When he came home, she greeted him,
And pecked his rugged cheek.
“How was work?” she asked him,
“Same old same” he smiled, meek.
He mumbled words only for her
As he took off his hat,
Then ordered “Whiskey please madame!”
And with a grin he sat.
“You drink too much.”
Knocking mud off of his boots.
But I got distinct impressions
Those old souls were in cahoots.
Heart of Gold?
Or Heart of
silver, brozen, iron
Or what about melting ice?
Then, blood and muscles??
No matter from what your heart made of,
Is it still beating?
That's the thing matters.
As soon as her secret was out, she was never safe;
A guarded life was better than this
Harrowed by the hunters
Give up, they would say
Let us have our prize
Dragged down by its weight,
She didn’t want it anyway
The end of the road, a yawning chasm
She stands at the lip of the cliff—
Greedy hands ripping,
A last, satisfying scream
As she pours everything out
As they take,
Strands of life, dripping blood
Torn from her chest
She had a heart of gold.