The Gold Is Silent.
The gold is silent.
It does not scream.
While memecoins bleed
and candlesticks dream.
It waits beneath
the wreck of trust
a relic cold,
immune to dust.
No shill, no pump,
no tweet can wake
the hush beneath
the market’s quake.
And in that hush, a whisper grows “You traded gods for hollow rows.”
