It has been raining diamonds,
For about a month now,
In our hot and sunny village,
Suffering from a poor drought,
The day it all began,
We thought the stars were falling down,
But when it fell down on us,
It sparkled on our hands mud brown,
And we collected it all to sell,
But it was more than enough for us,
But people from cities gathered,
When the news became such a fuss,
And we stayed put in our homes,
For diamonds hit right on our head,
The people who came to visit us,
Gathered it all and fled.
Now it's hard to ever get out,
For the diamonds prick our soles,
And trying to get some air,
Results in scratched bones.
But greed still exists,
It's been proved in deaths of late,
For people who want more,
Still prove that they're "brave",
But diamonds hurt,
And scrape,
And prick,
And scratch,
And kill.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
