Once I saw a man
Sitting with an empty plate,
Looking at everyone
With hollow brown eyes,
Dreaming of a day
That smells like food
And tastes like “justice.”
The empty plate
In his frail hands
Seemed to quake,
Not from growing too cold,
But from waiting too long.
Starvation eats his flesh
While he stands
Like a broken brush.
It does not stop at his flesh,
But still gnaws at his dignity.
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