The Dinner

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Once in ancient halls of gold,
They dined on silver plates—
The kings and queens of stories told,
Fates bright as dawn, though wrought in hate.

Beyond the walls of feasting halls,
A beggar cried, a child lay cold,
The rich man’s feast, the poor man’s pall,
The same old story, ages old.

Who knows the value of the feast?
The one who tastes, or one denied?
The famished soul, whose hunger ceased
For just one crumb, one tear, one sigh.

Through centuries the wheel did turn,
From ancient fires to modern flame,
Still hands that toil, hearts that yearn,
The dinner’s dress, yet much the same.

The rich man’s feast of fancy wine,
Soft candlelight in mirrored halls—
The poor man’s plate of bread and brine,
Still fights to keep his hunger small.

Yet who can weigh the worth of bread,
The sweetness in each meager bite?
Not he whose table’s always spread,
But one who starves through endless night.

The layman's back, a weary curve,
Toiled fields beneath the sun's harsh glare;
A single coin, his nerve, his serve,
While fortunes grew beyond all care.
No silken cloth, no cushioned seat,
Just dust and sweat, a meager gain;
The bitter taste of life's defeat,
A constant, gnawing, empty pain.

The taste you savor, rich and sweet,
Is born of sweat and weary feet—
Fields tended through the burning sun,
Long hours served before day’s done.

Behind each bite, a silent cost—
A human story, love, and loss.
The hands that sow, the backs that bend,
The dreams they gave, the lives they spend.

For every meal that brings delight,
There lies a tale of quiet fight—
Of hunger faced, of sacrifice,
Of hardship paid in weary price.

Their laughter, light as summer breeze,
Fluttered where rich tapestries hung—
But outside, shadows, cold unease,
Like hungry wolves, silently clung.

The primal call, a hollow plea,
From empty gut, a life at stake—
Its desperate worth, they failed to see,
No chime it made, no ripple break.
A whisper lost in clinking glass,
A shadow on the gilded floor—
The vital pulse, quick to pass,
Unheeded at the mansion's door.

But waste—so callous, so profound,
Plates piled high, then swept away—
While hollow eyes in shadows frown,
And empty hands reach out in vain.
Each grain of rice, each loaf of bread,
A silent prayer, a life sustained—
Yet careless hearts, so easily fed,
Leave bounty spoiled, and hunger chained.

And in the quiet hours of night,
The weary close their eyes and dream—
Of steaming bread, of firelight,
Of dinner’s warmth, a fleeting gleam.
For some, a memory sweet and true;
For others, just a phantom’s trace—
A whispered hope the heart clings to,
A dinner dream they chase and chase.

The rich man slumbers, soft and deep,
A brief repose ere plates arrive;
The hungry child, too weak to weep,
In forced oblivion, barely alive.
One chooses ease, a gentle hush,
The other sinks, by hunger worn—
A silent plea, a life's long crush,
Another dawn, another morn.

The grandest feast, the meager crust,
Both fade when sun begins to set—
To silent dust, we all adjust,
What wealth could buy, or can regret?

Yet every soul—no matter caste—
A heart that beats, a breath that’s drawn,
Each dinner ends, the plates are cast,
The ancient truth: life marches on.

For rich and poor both share the night,
When feast is done, and wine is dry—
Beneath the stars, we’re small and slight,
A flicker, brief, beneath the sky.

So take your seat, where’er you stand,
The dinner’s spread for young and old—
Who knows the worth? Who understands?
A fragile dream, a story told.

Who knows the value of a crust?
The farmer’s hands, the child’s cry—
The humble meal, the quiet trust
That life persists, that hope won’t die.

Each grain, each drop, is sacred, dear.
Let none be wasted, none left behind—
Respect the meal, for life draws near.
In every crumb, a soul’s delight,
In every bowl, a prayer unheard—
Let kindness guide both day and night—
Share what you have, spread gentle words.
For food sustains both rich and poor,
A bond that no divide can sever—
Today’s dinner, tomorrow’s pleasures—
A simple meal, a life’s true treasures.

For every night’s dinner brings happy moments,
And every plate, tomorrow’s dreams—
A gentle light in life’s long journey,
A hope that flows like quiet streams.


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