Rotting Gold

Gold left by the roadside 
starts to rot. 

Empty streets 
swell with contemptuous pride.    

I placed my heart in my chest
and told it to wait
till spring comes again. 

But a heart contained, 
hears its own rhythm echo. 
And sings the many sad shapes 
of a smile.

We are gently screaming 
and violently humming 
into a complicated silence.