I often end up blinded
By the glitter falling from the sky
Nesting underneath my eyelids
And in the creases by my eyes.
But though this glitter sparkles
While I’m holding out my hand,
It never seems as golden
By the time it took to land.
What looks like glitter from below
Is actually glass, shattered and cracked,
And all it does is linger
Never giving up on its attack.
So next time you reach towards the sky
In search of some glitter to hold,
Remember it’s better to dirty your hands
For underground is where you’ll find gold.