A SOUL FOR SALE

Picture Courtesy www.atlantaintownpaper.com


The gong beat
In town square,
Markets,
And common areas,
Crowds gathered to an unusual sight,
Free bread and drink
For all who bothered,
A new beginning,
That’s what they were told,
A precursor to better things,
Said they brought rain,
Asked that all till the land,
For the bumper harvest did await.


Multitudes,
Swayed by drink,
Bread
And colourful pictures
Painted of tomorrow,
Sold their souls,
Inebriated,
And toasting tomorrow.


Not all did buy into the better tomorrow,
Holding out,
Not for want of a better price,
They found these tales
Farfetched
And pretty difficult to follow.
Climbing atop mountain peaks,
They identified with higher ground,
For fear of getting washed away,
In the swirling tide.


With nothing more than bags of yellow corn,
And pitchers of water,
They waited out the storm,
After months of eating so much corn,
They began turning yellow,
A few fell off into the yawning tide below,
Slowly their numbers did dwindle,
Till no more than a handful did remain.


One morning,
The cock did crow,
They woke to nothing more
Than a handful of corn
And empty earthen pitchers.
One after the other,
They descended onto the lonely streets below,
Strewn with bodies
Of brothers missing souls,
With empty eye sockets
Housing spiders and dirt in droves.


Thirsty
Hungry
Wearing their skins
Like rubber suits
They carried signs, of which some read,
“My soul for a loaf of bread”,
“What can I get? Just give me a price.”
“Unfair trade, but I’m willing to trade”,
“A little something and I’ll be on my way”.


Decay,
It affects us all,
One way or the other,
We all do fall,
Others much quicker,
But in the end,
We all do fall,
People always pay
When the weak wield the reigns,
Weakness always walks in confused and indecisive
With a long line of people in pain closely behind,


A soul for sale,
Anyone?
Going once
Going twice,
This is the hundredth call,
Just name your price,
We’re reduced to clear.