A Glass House

 The cities gleam,
Forests of glass and steel,
Roads paved with the remains of ancient beings, 
and the stones upon which they once lived.

The people gaze upward, 
searching for the sun, 
searching for the dawn of a new day.

The rich have claimed the sky and the sun. 
They stare out of giant windows, gazing at the masses, 
At the heart that pumps blood through their cities.

The money they make, they will plant in the ground.
To keep it safe, they say, from those who would steal it.
"We plant it so that it will grow, nourished in our care.
Someday it will bear fruit, fruit from which we will all feed."

The people are angry.
"That's not true," they say. "We give you our money,
And in your hands it withers and dies, leaving us with 
Ground upon which nothing will ever grow. With our money, you built 
Skyscrapers to blot out the sun, machines to replace us, and the homes in which we are trapped.
Everything you do you do for our benefit, but all you have brought is suffering."

But what can they do, trapped in their world of glass and steel,
Driving over the remains of forests and deserts, trapped in their concrete walls?
What can they do but scream as the earth warms, disease spreads, and their world turns to ash and dust?

They are trapped in a glass house,
And everyone is holding a stone.  

The people cry, 
angry and sad and alone.
Voices unheard,
Echo into darkness.

Trapped in their cities, 
Unable to survive,
Begging the rich for the right to live once more.

The rich, defiant as ever, denying what's to come,
Laugh and say,
"What will you do,
In your world of glass and steel,
When the windows are smashed, the steel frame rusts,
And the pavement becomes unbearably hot?
How do you plan on stopping us from making money,
No matter the price you pay?
We have taken your money, and we couldn't give it back even if we wanted to.
If you want it, you'll have to take it from our corpses,
If you dare."

The people rage,
"We will do what it takes," They scream,
"If it is you who has destroyed our world,
Then it is you who must make it right,
For that's the reason we gave you our money in the first place.
What we gave, we gave in the hopes 
That you could do what we couldn't do on our own.
You said that with enough money,
You could bring the dead back if you wanted to.
But the weather gets worse,
Our wells dry up,
We die from plague after plague,
And still you watch us
From your glass towers,
Mocking as though we aren't able to destroy you."

Will they break free of their glass house?
What is the price they'll pay?

The smart ask what they hope to accomplish,
While the stupid pretend nothing's changed.
The fearless demand they grab boulders,
While the timid say peace is their only hope.
Neither good nor evil
Knows what their goals should be anymore.

Concrete is broken.
Stones fly.
Towers collapse.
All our morals burn,
Replaced with emptiness so deep, no amount of hope could ever fill it.

In the end, we couldn't go back even if we wanted to.

Glass lines the streets,
Steel beams sag,
The air is thick with smoke, ash and dust.
We know how it happened,
Though we do not know why.
Everyone sits in shock,
Quietly blaming everyone else,
And all ask themselves;
What happens now?

The cities crumble,
Pulled down by the weight of their steel frames.
Plants push through pavements,
Broken by wind and rain.

The people gaze upward,
Through smoke and dust,
Searching for the sun,
Searching for the dawn of the new day.

The rich are gone,
Eaten by scavengers,
Paying the price for their greed and thoughtlessness.

Slowly,
Carefully,
People rebuild.
Their anger spent, 
They get on with their lives.

Some say things are worse,
Some say they're better,
Most agree the price was much too high.

As they look around
At the remains of the glass house,
A prison and home at once,
They ask themselves;
Did we do the right thing?