Dinner For Few

In the realm of politics, where power may dwell, A feast unfolds, a story to tell, A dinner for few, where cruelty abounds, Where the needy are ignored, their cries but tiny sounds. At a grand table, adorned with gold and silver, The privileged gather, their hearts cold, their hands quiver. A feast fit for kings, while others starve, Their wealth and opulence, meant only to carve. The hunger of power, it consumes their souls, Igniting in them a passion that takes its toll. They revel in their privilege, blind to the suffering, Their hearts calloused, empathy withering. The table is set, with delicacies rare, While outside, the masses suffer, gasping for air. The scent of injustice wafts through the room, As they laugh and clink glasses, a display of doom.