Flecks of Gold

Flecks of gold

And silver whispers

Treasure awaits 

In clearings thicker

Than coves, overgrown

With vines and coral

Hushed whispers fill the air,

ghosts lingering, drifting

Men who died searching in vain

The most gruesome death is the one in which there was nothing to gain

Dirt and ash caked under their fingers

bruises on each knuckle

calloused fingers gripping the pick

but they could not contain their yawning hearts, ever agape for more

like black holes

Soon their greed was what caused their deaths indeed

Pitfight, claws oustretched, strangle each other to death

Stampede like cattle

bones do shake and rattle

as the ground does

opening up to swallow

what was no longer fit to grow

on Earth