Nathan Hart Mrs. Christensen Am. Lit.

3/19/13 Silencing Stones

The adamantine stone gleams in the African light, its radiant surface intact A solitary, swarthy hand lifts it out of sight and drops it in his bag.

The rocks sheen is precious, its size divine. Its future is set in a shops window to shine.

A wedding ring, a necklace. A birthday present, a decoration. The centerpiece of an earing that glistens in the warm summer sun

So innocuous, so pure is the lustrous African stone. But never does one ask about the one that gave it its home

The raging warlord that yelled at the swarthy hand. The raging war that disseminated the land. The overseer that whipped the unpaid miners whose blood stained the blistering sand.

The lying liars who say that all is well, who say that their laws prevent this hell. The untold truth that no one has stopped these evil warlords who seek great wealth.

Not all is well in the Dark Continent, where the families of dead soldiers lie, malcontent. And the snarling, mining lords whip the miners whose blood stains the blistering sand.

Cries unheeded, voices unheard as the rings on our fingers silence their words.