THE HUNGER CLOCK
Ding dong, the hunger strikes,
A rhythm felt in bones and spikes.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner near,
The stomach rings, its call is clear.
No hands, no gears, no ticking sound,
Yet perfect timing always found.
Biology knocks, a subtle beat,
A clock within, precise, discreet.
A glass of water, a morsel fed,
The ringing fades, the body led.
Yet even empty, the bell may chime,
A pulse of life, a silent rhyme.
Some heed it fast, some let it wait,
The hunger bell respects no state.
Food or not, it strikes in tune,
Morning, noon, and fading moon.
It knows the body, knows the need,
Each cell aligned, each organ heed.
No battery, key, or settings new,
It’s built to work, in every hue.
Ding dong, a pulse through veins and gut,
A faithful rhythm, sharp and shut.
It hums of balance, life’s design,
A measure older than our time.
So hear it strike, that inner sound,
No feast, no prayer, no offering bound.
The hunger clock, so finely spun,
A song of life, and of the sun.
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