The Deterioration of Gold | Chanyoung Lee (12)

In a room full of ash, smoke fills the air like burning fire

I wander around, pages fluttering, as I search for the final note

My shoes stick against the wooden floor, and I stumble

I cautiously look around as I try to seek without ire

The lights get brighter and brighter with each flip of the page

The cool breeze gallops in as the night air flows in through the open window

Amidst all this chaos, a dark, glistening light flickers

I speedily turn to see the growth.

In the middle of this room, I seek to turn what is into what isn’t

I struggle as I stutter and shake, feeling the unease of my actions

I feel guilty as something inside me compels me to act

I throw in knowledge that isn’t mine and look inside the cauldron to see my goals develop

As a loud sound emerges, I rush out of the room, panting and out of breath

I re-enter the room, gait all stuttered, to see my ultimate creation

What lies in the center of the room is now yellow with tints of glitter

I fan my hands to remove the sullen air and see

As I touch my creation, I feel a warmth

Though its golden touch suggests I have succeeded, I feel something else

To turn what is into something it isn’t, my creation writhes in pain

As I lift the yellow mass off the floor, I feel it crumble and dry

The once-glistening surface now seems to deteriorate and rot

It’s material, though inorganic, that seems to scream and yell

The golden hue now turned dark, swirls and breaks

I throw my creation against the floor, only to see it explode.

The room now filled with dust of gold blinds me with its brightness

I tried to create something to transform something into what isn’t

Again a loud gust of wind flashes through the open window

Carrying out my creation as the open river carries out filth

With my creation now out of sight, I collapse to the floor

I close my eyes in fear of what I have done

But at last, I pull myself together and close the wretched window

I scream and yell and throw all that I have made and learned

I fall asleep, heavily breathing

I dream of what could have been, the luxury, the gold

But only I find myself waking on the cold wooden floor, with hints of what could have been

To realize that this shortcut only brought malice and hatred, making me something I am not