House of Hunger

A pillow like a slab of marble

another sleepless night ahead

another nightmare rears its head

in this warm, far too fiery bed.

-

Outside, the world is still shrinking

a man is seen, sinking

and a whirlwind picks up speed.

-

Black shadows stretch for miles,

screaming for freedom from their owners.

The blood gathers, slowly, upon my lips,

blood which then thickens, ripens, into oil.

-

From distant lands, an interest grows,

their straws at the ready.

-

A dilapidated house atop the hill,

shattered windows couldn’t hold the hatred in.

A house of hunger, they ran and left

with the table still made.

-

Ashes in a pile,

Goya’s Disasters of War burnt at the edges

but remaining just intact.

-

A waking nightmare,

sweat and shaking hands.

A gentle breeze from the opened window

then the smell of smoke, again.

-

Waiting in the darkness

for relief that will not come.