The candle flamed and then the dark enfolded it,
taking the space from the rank room and filling
it with the sins of the rich nations who take each
glimmer of light and feed on it leaving the rest to
wrestle with the deepening dread of night and
—–
nearby in valley of shadows someone’s sharing
a story of long ago tales, of times where treats
were not rare, and meals were met with thanks
and shared with the stumbling poor. Not one
now knows a joy of justice or the fun of fullness.
—–
The gloom grows with grim satisfaction as the
world closes in – while keeping its largesse for
itself and still they feed the fires of greed as
once wealth takes root it feasts on flights of
fancy that it is never, ever going to be enough.
——
The historian looked and struggled with tears
that threatened to make pathways down her
frowning features, she read again of the
terrible tragedy of humans who hesitated,
gave life to oil fields, who oiled their palms
and
crippled
creation.