Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Wall Street to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
I found a stock for pennies in a corner of the screen,
It promised gold and rockets and the biggest gains I'd seen.
A stranger in a forum said it's going to the moon,
Just buy it now, he told us, or you'll miss the rocket soon.
I knelt beside my laptop with my savings and a prayer,
And I clicked the button, trembling, in the blue electric glare.
The rocket rose on Monday and I danced across the floor,
By Wednesday it had tumbled, worth a penny and no more.
The stranger in the forum had already sold his share,
And I learned the costly lesson that a promise is but air.
So now I say a different prayer when rockets start to call,
Lord, grant me the good sense to let the shiny rockets fall.
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Commentary
A tip from a stranger online promises riches. The speaker learns, painfully, how hype works.
A cheap stock “promised gold and rockets,” and “a stranger in a forum said it's going to the moon.” The speaker kneels “with my savings and a prayer” and clicks “in the blue electric glare.”
“The rocket rose on Monday,” but “by Wednesday it had tumbled, worth a penny and no more.” The stranger “had already sold his share.” The speaker's new prayer is for “the good sense to let the shiny rockets fall.”