Slice of Pie

Screaming stomachs starve in every sense.

Eager eyes consume their fill,

watering parched mouths.

Salvation lay among flaked clouds.

No mote of mélange dared widely wander.

Downhill flight stumped in hole or rut.

Fugitive castaways make the best fodder,

bobbing in merry cups.

Sweet rain plumped what obscured heaven from the bunch.

Temperate bounty unfolds abundantly

under the stroke of a cold edge,

tracing lines to stifle shrieks.

Reprieve dribbles out of the gate,

finally free to make its sweet escape.