The lonely trader confesses
to an empty church.
Left with nothing
but the eerie glow
of candlestick charts,
his screens shine
like stained glass windows,
illuminating market data scripture
and end-of-day prices.
The closing bell
has already rung,
and all of Wall Street
has flooded back home.
Volume and volatility
collapse
into aftermarket silence.
Beneath the cathedral walls,
the disciples of speculation
kneel before the specter
of Jesse Livermore as the crucified Christ,
martyr and messiah
of ruined fortunes.
And if you listen closely enough,
you can hear
a ticker-themed heartbeat,
as the only sound
at an empty pew.
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