GOLD GRAB

They mine the earth for yellow gleam,
Yet price is set by paper dream.
A thousand tons in vaulted hold,
But futures claim a million sold.  

The banks release a phantom flood,
Each contract born of ink, not blood.
They short the sun, they cap the star,
While bars sit still in steel-barred car.  

Demand roars loud from chip and ring,
Still charts are bent by puppet string.
The spike is crushed, the dip is deep
They harvest fear while holder’s weep.  

But metal waits beneath the lie,
One squeeze, one dawn, the paper dies.
The vault doors crack, the truth runs free
Gold claims its throne eternally.