The Artifact in the Market

The stall was loud, the light was cheap and glare, I stood among the trinkets, stripped and bare. I begged the passing eyes to stop and see, To name a price for what remained of me. But they saw glass where I knew I was soul, They offered copper for a heart of gold. I pushed my worth like salt upon the tongue, To those who knew not songs that I had sung. I hung my spirit on a rusted hook, And bled for every cold, indifferent look. But then, a silence started in my core— I realized I wasn't meant for this floor. Why beg for pennies in a common trade, When I am wonders that the heavens made? I saw my light—a glow they couldn't bear, Too rich for hands that didn't truly care. So I withdrew. I closed the heavy lid, And in the velvet of the dark, I hid. I am no longer for the casual eye, I will not sell, and I will never buy. I sit in stillness, guarded and refined, Leaving the hollow marketplace behind. I wait for one who walks through mist and stone, To seek a value that is mine alone.