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.
While New York sleeps, the markets wake in Tokyo and Seoul,
And the futures start to flicker like the embers in a bowl.
I sit up in my kitchen with the moonlight on the sink,
Watching prices from the other side of the world begin to blink.
A farmer sold his wheat in spring before the fields were grown,
And a baker bought it early so the price was set in stone.
That's what a future is, my friend, a promise made today,
For a thing that isn't ready yet, at a price you both can pay.
So the world keeps trading promises across the darkened sea,
From the rice fields to the wheat fields to the coffee and the tea.
And I close my eyes at midnight with the future in my hand,
Knowing every honest promise is a bridge from land to land.
Poet of Wall Street · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
Late at night, markets on the other side of the world open. The speaker explains futures through a farmer and a baker.
“While New York sleeps, the markets wake in Tokyo and Seoul,” and prices “flicker like the embers in a bowl.” In the kitchen “with the moonlight on the sink,” the speaker thinks of “a farmer” who “sold his wheat in spring before the fields were grown.”
“A baker bought it early so the price was set in stone.” A future is “a promise made today, for a thing that isn't ready yet.” The world trades “promises across the darkened sea,” and “every honest promise is a bridge from land to land.”