In the Hour of Hunger
I have dreams — as everyone does.
I used to think everyone dreamed,
Everyone thought, in the same way.
But no —
In the face of hunger,
Does everyone crave the same morsel?
What kind of hunger is this?
Beast, you, I — even God hungers:
For flowers, for devotion,
For tears, for reverence.
And the spirits —
Do they not hunger too?
Hmm…
A tangled mind only knots itself tighter.
So I’ve stopped overthinking —
Slowly, bit by bit,
I’ve let myself drift toward the current,
Offering up myself and everything I have.
Everyone is different,
Each a separate fraction —
Yet somehow, the sum must add up.
Oaths will break —
They must —
For in the hour of hunger,
All are one.
