Original DDE™ art: “Gilded” by: rob kistner © 12/4/25
—-<§>—-
abundance is not a storehouse
or a vault
sealed in the dark
nor a fertile field
brimming with grain
not if a needy child
a hungry child
or anyone as such
may not enter
or share
it is not the bright idea of “plenty”
claimed by the few
guarded like treasure
while the world waits outside—
gate closed
abundance requires access—
requires the sharing hand
requires availability for all
like air
like sunlight
like rain that does not choose
which fields to bless
if a foolish world
stores mountains of food
but desperate mothers
still measure meals in worry—
then… what we call abundance
is only hoarding—
dressed in finer clothes
when people sleep on concrete
when bodies go unhealed
when bare unwashed feet
meet the sting of winter asphalt
when a just call for
critical help
goes unheeded
when true starvation
causes anyone unbearable pain
or excruciating death…
the “lie” of distance becomes obvious—
as if abundance can live “over there”
and still mean something here
true abundance is local
immediate
shared
it is not a rumor of plenty
but a presence of enough
in our own rooms
in our own hands
in the widened circle
where no one is left outside
abundance begins with an open gate—
not with the locked door
behind which a fatted few sit
counting their gold
eating there filet mignon
swilling their fine wine
~ no ~
it must live in the daylight
in the place where hands meet freely
where people come together
in the promise that enough
belongs to all
in the promise to care for each other
in the promise to care for our shared home
earth
you can pile food past the horizon
stack medicine to the ceiling
let good clothing gather
in towers of folded grace—
if it never reaches the people
who hunger
who ache
who shiver
then plenty is only a dark shadow
pretending to shine
true abundance is tangible
not rumor—
a chorus of shared opportunity
a fairness declared
a deeply rooted equality
it’s the way we lift each other
from the dim corners of need
abundance is not a closed fist
it is an open hand—
it is love
a rhythm of grace
a human tide of love
moving outward
making room
making a difference
giving of yourself
letting not one soul
stand outside
wanting
rob kistner © 12/4/25
