Life Is A Banquet And... Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

'Most poor suckers are starving to death'
Mame Dennis

Perhaps it is too late.
We always had enough
to feed the planet
if we tried.
We stored for famine,
shared with those denied.
New methods, tools we found
when crops grew bad.
But tyrants create scarcity
by war.
We dread we will not have
our own fair share
and scheme to sneak a crumb
for our own care.
We sell our souls.
We hunger, craving more.
You won't say
you love yourself
or me,
hear I love you
or ask for what you need.
You fear each sign of longing,
weakness, greed.
Your habits hide your hurt.
But you can free yourself.
There's heaps of love
enough to carve a slice of happiness
and no one starve.