My last breath feels inevitable.
Food, a phrase once so fruitious,
Now feels so forgettable.
Picking the apple from Eden,
An action so regrettable.
I claw and I clamber,
You believe that I committed perjury
One measly morsel of food is all that I ask for.
Yet you deny me this luxury,
I am no cardinal sinner.
Let God be my judge,
Lord above, please listen to my prayers.
2nd place in the End Hunger UK poetry competition.
‘A Closed Fist’ – a spin on the meaning to hurt someone. A closed fist can be a punch but it could also be inferred to as a hand that is not offering food and therefore hurting someone by starving them.
I wanted the poem to show how it’s essential to be kind to one another. Afterall you never know where someone might be in their life, or who they may become. And perhaps you may even find yourself needing their help oneday. The bigger picture is that we are humans we need food and we need to put ourselves in eachothers shoes more often, especially when it comes down to this essential element of life – to prevent starvation.
Listen to the Poem: