My hands reach down to wash The ivory from my face, The bitterness from my taste, The dirt from my heart, The dust from my soul, Before all else becomes the toll, The reaped reward Of a single penny in a fountain, The single minuscule Worth, of a million more droplets of this bronze, Because the difference has not made the completion Of one heart in gold. I run waters through my mind To meet idiocy by its birth, When two nickles can last for their silver Forever molded by those around. Life has clocks, Love has clouds, Life has a voice, Love has silence. We wish to speak for another million years To simply exist For the sake of sound, Not the captivation of what is around. I see a woman, The only woman Whose dream was crushed with the fallen stones Of a destroyed empire, Torn palaces, emptied skyscrapers, Losing their eyes, their vision, with the wilderness, The jungle, Of their making. Their beauty Is unseen To sufferers and deniers, Though not for the woman who saw Heaven, Wanting that empire to crumble. I taste mud in my mouth, Blood on my hands, Was what I caused a stain, Or a gain Of fields dressed in the same golden grain, Of a million more years in pain? Everywhere I turn Women seem to drown in their dreams, Hiding sentiment behind Their stream of tresses falling from their eyes.