There are many ways to fast and many things to fast from. The gospel from Matthew helps to unravel the deeper reason for fasting. One is to give up something pleasurable like eating, drinking, watching TV, or being on the phone in order to bring our minds and hearts to remember Jesus' suffering. We can also recognize how good we have it and that many people have so much less. What little things can we do to help them? By fasting from these things that give us pleasure and satisfaction and take up so much of our time and attention, it allows us to quiet our minds and our hearts to connect with God and hear his soft voice. In fasting from a meal or part of a meal, we can become hungry. This hunger can be a reminder of the time that Jesus was in the desert after his baptism with nothing to eat or drink. In the "Our Father" we ask God to "Give us this day our Daily Bread". God will provide for all of our needs both Physical and Spiritual. Our hunger is physical, but it can also be a reminder of our spiritual hunger and the ways we try to fill the God-shaped holes in our hearts with things that can never truly satisfy. Fasting reminds us of our need for God and helps us to be dependent on Him in everything. We are called to be His children. Should we not, then, depend and rely on Him to be the perfect Father?

Lord, when we fast from things this Lent, open our hearts and minds and in your mercy, reveal to us the deeper value of it. Help us rid ourselves of the distractions in our lives in order to draw us closer to you. And while fasting is good; it alone is not sufficient. In the void of giving something up, help us to do something good, something pleasing to you Oh Lord. May we all "(Finally Find) What We Have Been Looking For". May we all find you!
Amen.

I smell the wild on you.
How the snow is caked in your fur.
When the night falls, what does
It offer besides survival.
And the means to be something
besides human.
We're stuck here somewhere where
The earth has broken.
And the cold envelopes everything it
Touches.
You stand there in the snow
Teeth bared.
Not afraid to go at it once more.
I've grown tired, so very tired.
Your eyes burn the snow.
That fierce longing to stay alive.
What else does the night offer,
We've consumed pretty much
everything else except each other.
And I am tired of fighting.
Nothing pretty survives out here alone,
In the dark.
Together, you and I nestled in each other's warm.
When hunger subsides.
We'll find it in each other

Late into the night,
a fire rages on,
devouring everything it sets its sight on.
memories, splinters, concreate and rubble.
still, it wants more,
nibbling on silence, the dark of the night
itself.
its tongue stretches and laps,
its stomach nowhere near full.
it twists and turns, ignoring
the tug of its shadow.
it wants what it wants,
regardless of how it tastes.
its fingers constantly reaching out,
leaving a scorched trail everywhere it’s been.

here I sit, watching the fire
grow in size and height,
hoping that by some twist of fate,
it finds what it truly hungers for.
until then, nothing or no one will be able
to put it out.
I too have tired myself out,
opening the refrigerator,
like you will magically appear.

There is no hunger in my household,
My country;
Everyone’s worth their weight in gold
Or probably more
For
Singapore’s
Economy is nothing
Short of prospering.
There is no hunger, no thirst, no craving
For anything here– no one’s saving
Food and water anymore
For
Rainy days
(No one does, no matter what they say).
I live my life blessed
But my mind can never rest;
I hunger for peace
Perhaps not of the world for now but simply for my mind.
I look high and low
Within all the drawers and cabinets I know
Of, yet I still can’t find
Anything that might just make me content.
For what I’ve had of life went
By relatively quietly, however nothing could stop my head
From working. Instead
I crave
For peace that I have but just can’t find.
Save
Me from the demons in my mind.

so, tell me,
how does it feel
to be, so, finger licken good

you've, been puck, and tuck
from the neck,
down, to your feet

so how, does,
it, feel,
to be so finger licken good
you've, been powder, and pampered,
and felt up, in places,
you,
yourself,
couldn't, even reach

so how, does,
it, feel,
to be, so ****, tasty,
just, so, lip, watering crispy
that, I'd knock down
my little, old granny,
just,
to get, a another,
greasy, fried bite

so, tell me,
how does it feel
to be, so, finger, licken, good
that you have won, first place
right on top of my plate

so, tell me,
how does it feel

aka: lyricvixen

Us All

In hunger, my belly aches,
of clawed darkness, I’m afraid,
to forsee what is to come, I’m blind.
—just a reflection of all else.

On damp paper you may sit,
on thorned cushions someone may,
to the vast universe, insignificant.
—just a reflection of all else.

To linger, is in the hands of time,
but as the rest, home waits as death,
merits mortals with same eyes.
—just a reflection of all else.

Fields of wombs
grown on unsteady soil,
the ides of May, harvested
and cast into the fire.
The brand is seared
into the soul,
yet we scoff and sneer,
while we dangle on the branches
hanging on for our dear lives,
of the same burdened trunk;
of the same root that sired
us all.

—just a reflection of all else.

We learn to smile with our lips peeled back,
half-feral, half-forgotten,
daughters of flesh and teeth,
tasting the world as it tears through us—

The earth calls us by name,
whispering whorls and wants like lullabies,
beckoning hearts that never knew mercy,
braiding hair with thorns and boughs.

We answer in hunger,
all iron and salt, thirst and thistle,
skin pulling tight over gnarled roots and longing,
nerves quivering like a candle burning at both ends.

We sharpen ourselves on what remains—
cracked knuckles, raw knees,
holding the ache like a birthright,
swallowing each bruise,
never begging, only bleeding.

What would happen if you let yourself be hungry?
Would you reach for the bread or the knife?
Under the table and dreaming;
feral for kindness,
ragged in revile.

Swallow olive pits to allay your stomach,
varnish your voice with vinegar and honey,
twirl your tongue like a teaspoon around
new wild-blue words, hijacked hands,
and a bellyful of burdens clawing up your throat.

The hunger will keep you honest,
the bread will keep you alive,
the knife will keep you from being too kind.
Kind is another word hungry;
and hunger is how you got the knife.

What would happen if you stopped pretending you
were the center of the universe?
You are; but not because you are special–
because you are the only one who’s learned to bite down,
the lonely one who’s learned to look up.

Now that you know this, how would you like to behave?
It’s not up to you, but you should still think about it.
Chew on the questions but don’t swallow any answers;
the center of the universe has a weak stomach, and puking
proverbs only drags out the meal and ruins your boots.

What would happen if you were a little less precious?
Would your fingers still write ******? Would your knife still cut?
Would your appetite ache while your heart howled, ulcerated and untamed?
Your wayward words only tell half of the story;
the other half belongs to the hunger who ate the bread.

A word isn’t a thing to behold, but a thing to be held.
A poem isn’t a thing to reckon, but a thing to wreck.
A heart howls when forsaken; the banished **** and bite down,
There is a kindness in the story, but only when it’s told.