In the Land of Midas

170 years on,
And the echoes of the 49ers still call.
We are the new opportunists,
Come to exploit the Golden State.
I suppose,
No different than those old optimists,
With gold fever,
Who left it all behind and tempted fate.

They say the Siren song of California,
With danger on the rocks,
Lures you in with promise,
But may break you just the same.
This golden land,
Long a paradise,
Smiles at you while it takes your heart,
And makes you scream its name.

To these shores I was born,
Bred for swimming with the sharks,
Before I turned my back,
Left the beach and drove myself away.
Like other fools,
I now return,
But I never thought in a million years,
That I'd be back again one day.

This place where dreams can be found,
Upon the deadly winds,
If and only if,
Your wallet is stuffed with bills.
You pack your things,
Say goodbye to those you hold dear,
Head out west to stake your claim,
And hope to find luck in them thar hills.

170 years later,
And nothing's changed at all.
Optimistic opportunists,
They still come,
Looking for the Motherlode,
Blindly searching in the wild.
I should know,
I am one.

3-16-19