The moment seams dry as time reads on,
The eyes panics, empowered by fears.
The tiny creatures within calls for mercy;
The lips refuse to depart from each other,
While the tongue failed to salute the hand:
The teeth battle for survival terrorizing the hand,
Lo, the fingernails are defeated,
What can the weak brain do?
Woe unto he whose cutlery weeps.
Woe unto he whose finger touches a plate,
For this is war beyond the fuel's comprehension,
The nose can not resolve this dispute,
Neither can a foolish cook in his funny hat.
The knife has lost all hope of remaining a Marxist.
As the plates remained naked,
And the spoons are doomed for adventure.
'This is just the beginning of the heart's tribulations',
What more can the water say?
The salt is useless for the moment,
For the soups are nowhere to receive salvation.
The position of the pepper has be replaced.
The onions went from grace to waste bins.
Even the seasonings no longer share moonlight tales.
O what an empty dream for the living,
Grace has fallen, the grass also rejects this man.
The power house is weakened,
The hollow of the bone is disappearing into emptiness,
The empty stomach cannot bear this agony but cry,
Then, the toilet must tarry for her tribute,
O ye foolish heroes!
You cannot save a dead man,
Neither can the head be balanced;
While the body is in motion.
Even when the teeth are sharpened,
That does't make its starvation free.
Generosity in this case, is the path to ones demise.
When the clothe is blazing in hot flames,
Pay attention and grow wise,
For hunger calls.
