Measure of Hunger

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Are you hungry, truly so?
Not the craving for taste,
But the hollow ache
That humbles pride and lays all waste?
The gnawing emptiness that dims the eyes,
And strips the spirit of its thin disguise.
No gentle pang, but a demanding roar,
That stills all chatter, craving nothing more.

Then why this feast for empty praise,
This silver-plated show of grace?
When ten still wait with outstretched hands,
Your platter spills, a careless dance.
The bread you break, a mockery untold,
While countless stories of despair unfold.
Your laughter rings, a shallow, hollow sound,
Upon the very ground where hunger's found.

Grains that ripen under burning skies,
Bloom from roots where hardship lies.
Only hearts that brave the flame
May taste their strength and bear no shame.
For sun-baked soil knows truths the well-fed miss,
A whispered wisdom in the wind's soft kiss.
The true harvest is not just what you gain,
But the resilience forged in sun and rain.

The ones who’ve never missed a meal
Heap more than hearts could ever feel.
But hunger knows a sacred art —
To feed the soul, not just a part.
It teaches patience, sharpens every sense,
A silent teacher of true consequence.
It carves compassion deep within the bone,
A truth by comfort never truly known.

For those who feast with timid soul,
The fire within may take its toll.
The belly burns, the spirit cries,
The body aches, the hunger lies.
A phantom feast, where satisfaction flees,
And hollow pleasure brings no inner ease.
The more they take, the deeper grows the void,
A soul consumed, its purpose long destroyed.

With five small loaves, compassion spread,
And thousands rose, though barely fed.
For love, when shared with honest hand,
Can stretch like stars across the land.
A miracle of kindness, freely given,
A testament to grace, a glimpse of heaven.
The smallest offering, magnified by grace,
Leaves no one wanting, finds its proper place.

In the fire of greed and envy,
You grew, wounded by the flowing stream,
Drinking another’s lifeblood,
You stood, drowning in neglect.
He stole dreams,
Love faded from others’ hands,
Yet you are not satisfied,
You wait only for more destruction.
The flow continues, the liquid dries,
Life forgotten in emptiness,
Your jealousy and greed like the sky,
Burying others in the soil.
You cannot drown your heart full of sorrow,
But to hide your emptiness,
You snatch the sparks of others,
Greedy one, destroyed by yourself.
A self-made prison, built on grasping might,
Forever shadowed, devoid of inner light.

Not all are meant to drink the light
That scorches fields from morn to night.
But some will walk where others kneel,
Their scars a map, their pain a seal.
They carry burdens others cannot see,
A quiet strength for all eternity.
From trials faced, a deeper vision born,
A wisdom gleaned from every breaking dawn.

The one who bore both chain and flame,
Who tasted loss and earned a name —
Will never wage a war in haste,
But count the cost in every waste.
They sow not just for mouth or store,
But for the ones who starve for more.
Beneath the blaze, the grain will rise,
Not fed by ease, but silent cries.
Their strength not measured by the spoils they claim,
But by the healing whispered in their name.

His battle lines are drawn in sand,
Not blood, but care guides every hand.
For freedom shaped by sacrifice
Won’t trade its truth for any price.
And those who eat with grateful breath
Will share their strength, defying death.
A silent pact, a bond forged in despair,
To lift the burden, and the weight to share.

War drums echo, greed’s cold hand,
Commerce and faith in blood’s command.
Rulers pour the poison, claim it’s need,
From hunger’s altar, power feeds.
A monstrous god, demanding constant toll,
Devouring lives, consuming every soul.
Their banquets built on tears and silent pleas,
A poisoned empire, trembling in the breeze.

Hunger, perhaps, a faith profound,
Its altar—poverty’s harsh ground.
Starvation’s flames, its fervent zeal,
Poverty, the worshiper real.
In empty stomachs prayers arise,
Silent screams beneath the skies.
A cruel god, with iron might,
Fed by shadows, void of light.
The hungry throng, devoted thralls,
In famine’s grip, their spirit falls.
Faith in hunger, stark and grim,
A bitter hymn, a mournful hymn.
A ceaseless torment, etched in every face,
A haunting echo in this barren place.

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