Success signs still small songs
shining shimmering in the sunlight
success slides silently between
silk sheets of sorrow
and smiles from sympathetic witnesses
sitting on the sidelines
singing their own songs
success stirs the pot
sprinkles spices liberally
sets the table
with ordinary dishes
serves up sumptuous portions
of chocolate covered gruel
that tastes disturbingly sensual
success
is that still small space
inside your soul
that smiles in the silent darkness
and shouts yes, quietly, in your brain

This poem brought to you by the OctPoWriMo prompt for today… and the number three (not 11… I started late)