Flowers

Diamonds and Beads

Glittering skyscrapers reaching up to God himself
Sweat trickling down their brows with every breath itself
The playground of the elite;
diamonds and wealth studded everywhere from on their fingers to their feet

Booming music and strobe lights
Bleed into the inky black field of the night
The youth, the powerful, jeweled teeth and the rushing thrill of
Tearing the opal pearls off their necks in their sorrows still

Whereas across the electric, cobalt blue, crashing surf
lies a glittering emerald stretch of turf
women's big hooked noses rising towards the sky
the soil from which a flower grows swirling in their eyes

skin of tree bark and a yellowing smile
long gone is the marriage-gold, it's been a while
Lord knows their beaded shawls were handmade,
woven from the nimble fingers of a young maid

Here, there are no shining shopping bags
but the rushing of crystalline water, and dancing flags
Here, there are beggars on the streets
Because not everyone can stand on their own two feet

Instead they sway in the whispering winds of struggle
Poor old man, drowning in his troubles
But at least he won't sniff the combustion of fuels each day
rather the crisp petrichor, or newly molded clay

EVEN WITHOUT THE DIAMONDS AND GREED, HE'LL BE OKAY;
NOT EVERYONE NEEDS TO DROWN IN THE GAMES THAT THE RICH MEN PLAY.