There’s an
insatiable hunger
chewing at
the edges of society
I have deemed
it, “The Munch”.
It’s out
there, on the fringe,
Munching.
The Munch
eats everything in its
path, never
stopping, relentlessly
feeding on
the joys, miseries and
the cavalcade
of emotions we’re capable of.
Like locust’s
jaws scissoring back and forth.
I can hear
it in the soft echoes of night,
in the chants
and screams of the righteous
and the
unjust.
A crunching,
munching, mashing, chewing,
sickly sound
swallowing everything.
The Munch
eats the will of the brave,
the courage
of the weak, the minds of
the smart,
the curiosity of the dim,
the backbone
of the wise and the
moral fiber
of the elected.
The Munch
eradicates fields of
thought, of
will, of empathy and
compassion. It
chomps down into
the essence
of humanity, taking
giant gaping
chunks from us.
We hardly
notice. The Munch is
actually quite
small.
Microscopic.
Infinitesimal.
Its work is
done over long stretches
of time.
Munching in
the dark,
Munching in
the sunlight,
Munching in
the fields,
munching in
the cities,
Munching for
millennia.
Until one
day,
all that’ll
be left,
is The Munch.
And we’ll be the empty table settings
And we’ll be the empty table settings
from the
third course meal.
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