Selling souls for diamonds
he peddles to the fleeting rich.
Blood smolders in his fiery eyes.
Build an army to gather and protect
the last food left upon the planet
after oil runs dry and ambition
drowns the mindless
in wanton desires
oblivious to the insidious nature
of the upper one percent.
Man your stockpiles!
He jacks up the price of his diamonds
muttering about his preacher daddy’s
unheeded ‘til the end times
when the upper one percent
will send out their armies
killing all remainders.
One by one families will succumb,
gunned down in an oblivious search for sustenance.
He rants about sparks, trapped within
set free at time’s beginnings,
superseded by greed,
while centuries fell from the sky
like iced lightning
stabbing jagged sticks
through the eyes of the wicked
Soon they will falter beneath the weight of diamonds,
drawn from blood that nourishes
the ginger-orange soil of Africa.
The clarity of diamonds belies humanity’s greed.
Centuries from now, goodness will rise
in the form of a young girl laughing.
Emerging from the fecund clay of everything that went before,
she will spread her wings and fly, engendering new beginnings,
fresh, beneath her finely feathered soul.
Brenda Warren 2011
My fears for our planet’s future play out in this piece. I imagined the “he” character as a street peddler, muttering prophecies, largely ignored. Left in the background to rant, pieces of truth fall from his mouth, dissipating in Earth’s dying air. Initially the piece ended with humanity’s greed, and that left me wanting hope. Emily Dickinson’s poem about hope sparked the last stanza, and gave the savior wings. The title is an adaptation from the first line of her poem, which you can find here.
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