Harvesting Blooms of Greed in Silicon Fields
Beneath glass vaults where neon orchards glow,
Circuit-rows stretch far as hungry eyes can see;
Tiny transistors sprout in perfect rows,
Each bud a promise of more wealth to be.
Data-bees hum through polished metal blooms,
Pollinating code with whispered schemes;
Their honeyed numbers drip in gilded vats,
Sweet ambrosia for overnight dreams.
Harvesters in tailored suits arrive
With scythes of contracts, sharpened lines of law;
They reap the yield of every user’s click,
Their pockets plump, while ethics lie in thaw.
Fields once sown with human hope and toil
Now churn in circuits, silicon, and greed;
Rare-earth ore spilled for power and control
Feeds roaring servers with an endless need.
Yet in this harvest, seeds of ruin grow:
Landfills rising where lost devices lie;
And hearts grown hungry for the next bright bloom
Forget the cost of lightning in the sky.
So guard your breath against that glowing field,
Where blossoms gleam but sting the hand that feeds—
For every bloom of greed you choose to yield
Will root its thorns in tomorrow’s deeds.
WoPoLi 
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