The object sat there, all alone,
On a soft patch of pure white sand
Untouched, supposedly unowned, resting quietly
Its shiny pieces of precious gold,
Gleaming in the torching hot sun
Luring me in with its texture and rich value,
Its deep stare piercing right through me
I turned away in resentment, hesitation and confusion
Yet turning around once more,
Gone, the gold vanishing from the hot sun and my envious glare
The patch of sand now lay naked
The gold simply a mirage
Questioning my deep intelligence,
So who is to say what to believe
And who to trust
Everything isn’t always what it seems