Gilded Guilt

I showered my walls in golden rays,
in streaks of golden dew;
descended towards a scent
roasted, toasted – a life of joy
abundant.

Oh, runny honey silken money
where would we be without these
our gilded bees
buzzing from plant to trees
from houses without fees
to our own jared realities.

Runny honey settled down,
firm in mind and firm in flesh
as pipes crack
and concrete crumble;
heat-less hell frozen over.

I shower my walls in golden rays,
in streaks of golden dew;
descend towards a scent
of sewage, raw – a life
sequestered and scanty;
dreams of buzzing bees dwindling.