Bread of the Soul's Quiet Cry

In this fragile weave of shadow and dust,
A prayer hums low, soft as a river's sigh:
"Give us this day our bread, just and just."
It spills from lips parched by a sacred why---
A longing stitched in bones, a simple plea,
To taste the weight of enough, not more, not less,
Yet the world hoards gold while I scrape debris,
A scavenger in robes of emptiness.
The air is thick with echoes of the feast,
Tables gleam where others carve their due,
But my plate cradles crumbs, a bitter lease,
A thief's shadow in a saint's residue.
Oh, how the irony cuts like frost on glass---
Voices that hymn of fullness clutch the yield,
Leaving me to chew on echoes that pass,
A hunger cloaked in fields they never tilled.
Yet through the ache, a lantern softly glows,
Gratitude blooms where want has carved its bed,
Each meager bite a seed the heart bestows,
A quiet hymn for every tear I've shed.
I whisper thanks to winds that bear no sound,
To hands unseen that knead the dawn's reply---
This prayer's a vow, a root in hallowed ground,
A trust that lifts me when the wells run dry.
We stand together, silhouettes in need,
Faces mirrored in the same dim light,
A chorus rises from this shared, frail seed---
Solidarity ignites the fading night.
I am no island, adrift in selfish tides,
But kin to every soul that dares to see:
Enough is not a prize the lone heart hides,
It's woven tight through you, through them, through me.
So let this plea not drift as ash unborn,
But blaze---a call to mend the fractured whole,
To shape a world where no one eats forlorn,
Where dignity anoints each seeking soul.
Not just to fill the flesh with fleeting bread,
But to rise, to breathe, to claim what's ours by right---
A tapestry of love, with justice wed,
A dawn where every hunger finds its light.