Beyond the Ridge

A young father stands atop the slope,

looking out toward the rugged peaks.

-

his stomach groans,

a hollow sound against the vastness

of the darkening sky.

-

Empty pockets mirror the barren shelves

inside the small dwelling.

-

The sun disappears,

leaving long, deep shadows

that snake across the parched terrain.

-

Daylight was spent searching

for any scrap to trade for bread,

yet nothing remains,

and the hunger persists,

an ache that never retreats.

-

His wife sits in the corner,

mending trousers with worn cord,

her eyes tracking the dying light

as the moon climbs high.

-

She says nothing,

for words offer no filling

for a starving belly.

-

They live within the gaps of the world,

unseen by those who own more,

collecting the remnants of days

that offer little beyond the struggle to continue.

-

He thinks of the world beyond the ridge,

a place where plenty might reside,

where the struggle for sustenance

occupies less of the waking mind.

-

The stars provide the only illumination,

cold points of light

that watch the toil.

-

He stands firm,

eyes fixed on the dark horizon,

waiting for a dawn that brings change,

-

knowing the cycle continues,

yet dreaming of a time

when the labor yields a life of peace.