We are all around, yet to us you are half blind. Sunlight makes us invisible, and difficult to find
You get many of me, but never enough. After the last one, your life soon will snuff. You may have one of me but one day a year, When the last one is gone, your life disappears.
People like this usually live in rural areas, unless they are lucky enough to strike oil and move to Beverly Hills.
It is more feared than fear itself, And no one can escape it. It takes no sides and does not judge, it does not know to hold a grudge. It is the most clearest result, Of how life beats you by default.
I am the outstretched fingers that seize and hold the wind. Wisdom flows from me in other hands. Upon me are sweet dreams, my merest touch brings laughter
This only turns over once you have traveled very far. What is it?
Golden treasure I contain, Guarded by hundreds and thousands. Stored in a labyrinth where no man walks, Yet men come often to seize my gold. By smoke I am overcome and robbed, then left to build my treasure anew