Coin

This coin has, long ago, been stripped of pride
Left circling above for days
In orbit of a wishing well
The face upon the front – a kneeling man who seeks to pray
The back – a finger pressed to lips with words that say, “I’ll never tell”
And all the while, still I hoped to see it land upon its side

Or else behold it taken by a bird
Who either came to steal my luck
Or else to save me from its sting
To doom me with the feeling I’d remain forever stuck
Or else to give me cause to hope a better coin it meant to bring
And all the while, yes and no were both the same – forbidden words

Eventually, the coin, it met the ground
It struck and then it ricocheted
It bounced and then began to roll
I chased it from a distance out of fear for what it’d say
But followed all the same because in truth, it was the final toll
Of passage and of mourning bells I knew, one day, would have to sound

And there I saw it slow and finally stop
Beside a painting faded gray
That not a soul would ever sell
The image of a kneeling man who knew not what to say
His eyes afraid to open as he tossed a coin into a well
And both of us, together, waited silently for both our coins to drop

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