Grim deserts consumed but not eaten
while in the midst of agonies that linger
provide no good taste for truths untold

requested at the table for lies and lecture
slurping bland soups of social conjecture
never have I cared for liquid meals

I am served a gamey, and dark stained fate,
Like a child, I play with the thoughts on my plate
Impulse at the table, feeding my foolish pride

It is not that I need this food to hoard
I am no less hungry as I am less bored
different perhaps, but still hungry inside

Only now do I hunger after my power of will
To taste and ingest, to possess and then wield
A potential fulfillment for life’s wonderful meal.