Midas' Touch

I don't have the Midas' touch;
my path is not
paved in gold.


No, everything I touch
turns to rust
including my trust.  


Broken promises
and dashed dreams
mark my unsteady steps.


I count on silver linings
because believing
in pots of gold is futile.


I don't hope for too much
because experience teaches
the poor rarely become rich.


What I think are treasures
are piles of dirt
covered with shiny paper.


I've replaced idealist views
with practicality,
hope with bitter reality.

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