When they removed the last bandage from Hunger the crowd gasped, Hunger had, ironically enough, been eaten away almost to nothing by the hungry. there was nothing left now but a grave dug with joy. Hunger had spent too many years eating away at flesh, too much time roaming the world on ravenous, weary-born legs and was not able to defend itself against its rapacious spawn. Too many years having its way with the needy and unsuspecting masses, Hunger had finally come upon itself. Too many years had passed since it knew how to defend its realm, trekking over the deserts and snow and oceans and sidewalks and roads without a worry or a care in this world of who it touched, it would walk over a hundred Mountains to get to one child, standing open-mouthed at Hunger’s monstrous breadth. Yes. Innocent children and their mothers and fathers happily tore away Hunger’s flesh with their weary worn claws made of the stiffened air and untold bereavement. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
(The Weaver's Song)