Silver.

The first time I recognized silver

was in a star, on my report card.

It wasn’t gold, for exceptionally good;

it wasn’t bronze, needing a lot of push;

it was an acceptable silver,

for those who got by.

 

It took some sweat to see

its tinge between the black and the white.

It crept up, eventually. And always

kept the poise: stripping yellow off its bright,

Adding glitters to the darkest blue.

 

The universe made more sense, now

that the extremes were all sucked dry.

It kept me looking for further more;

I got through, I got by.

 

The cloud stood bare, the lining exposed.

I could move up and ahead,

I was all set…

 

Until

 

I drew with silver

and out came red.

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