Smooth to the touch.
No longer what I was.
Used to be rough.
Bonded with the flux.
Looked thought the books.
Sat in the fire.
All it took,
all my desire
to reveal in me
The Philosopher.
Base metal.
All that I am.
Several layers,
welded together,
or an alloy by measure.
One and ten,
and then
smashed under pressure.
Fed a tonic,
or a tincture.
Watched the perfect picture
dissolve in an instant,
replaced with this new vision.
I am not
what I once was.
I was once
base metal.
Purified,
personified,
perfected
in this crucible.
All my imperfections,
a life of misdirection,
turned into a vapor,
extinguished in my destruction.
Coaxing the nucleus
to change,
is the path,
the way.
Influencing
how the atoms
are arranged.
And sometimes,
even how they’re made.
Looking at all this
slag and dross.
Evidence of what I was.
Remnants of us.
The treasure
of the lost.
Seek a brilliant way.
See that we are made
not of what we thought.
We all start out
as base metals.
DJR – 2022
