Golden

I’m a part of your syntactic voice
that speaks to you when you’re
alone and wanting a God to save you.

I’m a part of your sentence
that brawls a branch you crawl on for
survival, the one you call onto
when each and everyone forgot
your name, building your totems.

I’m a part of your debt
that you forgot existed
and want to bury with gold
want to repay me with sterile isolation.

I’m a part of your secrets
that beckons me near afraid
you’re the intruder in the dark
that grew apart from me.