The Lies of Diamond Digger

I’m lost in a sea of deep nothings, searching for something that may never exist.
A thing so pure not even thoughts can comprehend,
an emotion, devotion, a romantic legend.

My little wishes on stars sparkling high in the sky like a diamond
shining and screaming for the men to stop bleeding
and digging and losing and none of them choosing
to live life for the bling, oh how it stings.

And I still stand her alone.
With the same emptiness, of nothingness, of loneliness.
Maybe my foolishness has led me to this notion that I’ll never exist without a man’s kiss.
But these dreams are not bliss.

My independence interferes with every effort I make
to take his hand and believe its fate.
But it's so fake.

Fake as the ring on your finger.
That diamond that shines and just symbolizes
the blood and tears of men living in fear.
Fear of the next day. Are their children ok?

And then I look around and see women frown at the bling that stings their hearts
because they’ve been wronged--for far too long, and still hold on just to feel belonged.
It all seems wrong.

It's like a ticking bomb in my heart preparing to explode and unload
at the absurdities of today’s society.
I’d rather be single and rich while each paycheck benefits
those poor guys living their lives, digging for lies, the look in their eyes
But no one will sympathize

Because the demand for a man is all women want.
But I won’t stand for this taunt, nor flaunt a fancy bling
if it only means I support the misery of the crushed and the hopeless.

My own loneliness won’t succumb to this.
Chivalry is dead, and my fantasy of romance may never exist.

Comments

nicole.elizabeth.1865

I decided to write this poem about the Diamond wars in Africa. To this day, I do not wear nor advocate blood diamonds. Which side do you support?

Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression! 

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