Burn children of a new world,
famine constant, of the greed
we feed and eat in homes of
the rich, famine constant,
oxymorons, more food than ever,
yet the ever-longing famine of the world, countries falling and needy.
My plate, like the faces of children,
clouded by mess and fortune, and the
less fourtunate, and i eat, and eat
without regard.
famine constant, famine...constant.
and with every mouthful to reach me,
a child has died, due to constant famine.
Let the fires of droubt speak a message, of the fact we can do more,
to save children of the famines of the world, and the needy, and remove the greedy, such as i and you, who have access to such poetry as this and understand, that when you look at your plate,
count the dead.
On every bite,
count the dead,
because this famine is constant,
as constant as the meal which reaches my over-large stomach,
such luxury, and i count the dead in my full stomach.
