12

A sunbeam paints the window pane,

The storm's dark whisper, washed by rain.

The clouds have fled, a vibrant blue,

But echoes linger, sharp and true.

Should I step out, embrace the light,

Or cling to shadows, hold them tight?

A warmth descends, a tempting grace,

Yet fear still lingers in this place.

For heat, I know, can breed unrest,

A gamble played, a soul distressed.

Some joys may bloom, a welcome prize,

But darkness, too, before my eyes.

This life, a dance, unpredictable and bold,

I yearn for riches, a future to unfold.

Prosperity's hand, a gentle guide,

To walk beside me, side by side.

And people fade, like morning dew,

I pray for grace, a vision true.

To see the good, the honest heart,

And play in life a worthy part.

For I have sun, a golden gleam,

But tempests rise, a fevered dream.

Though winter's chill resides in me,

For ninety-nine percent, I'm free.

But that small spark, a burning fire,

The one percent, my soul's desire,

That's why I write, that's why I bleed,

To plant these words, a hopeful seed.