Abundance || A Spoken Word Poem
Spoken word poet Stacy Kong writes and delivers a powerful original poem.
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Abundance
To be human is to be hungry.
Wait long enough, and you’ll know what I mean.
As the hours pass, a fragile emptiness swells
like a balloon from within
until the ache is unbearable.
The only way to find relief is to
Eat.
Absorb a sweet flavor,
until it melts like honey,
surrendering itself to revive you.
It’s so primal, we barely question it.
We’ll devour anything that looks good and bright
and glistens under the sun.
When Adam and Eve stood beneath
the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,
light dancing around them
like fragments in a chandelier,
God forbade them to eat.
From the beginning of time,
To eat was to believe—
to take in what you trust to give you life.
I’ve tasted the fruit they picked, again and again.
The hunger is overwhelming
as I gorge at an endless buffet of success, pride, and pleasure
draining every last drop of flavor
the ghost of a meal crumbles into ash falling through my fingers
With empty hands, I crawl across a lifetime
reaching toward my Father in Heaven.
And when I see Him in the distance, I shrink back—
knowing in my soul I’m not worthy to be seen.
But He runs to me.
He wraps His arms around and pulls me in, rejoicing.
The feast He sets before me
is unlike anything the world has ever known:
abundance beyond measure,
like eating and feeling full for the first time.
Spread across the table is manna—
thin wafers scattered like grace
across the wilderness of my life.
At the center: bread.
Jesus broke it and gave it to His disciples, saying,
“Take and eat; this is my body.”
Beside it, a cup overflowing with mercy—
His blood poured out in place of mine.
His life given, to bring me home.
The weight of His sacrifice bends the fabric of existence.
If my thirst was a droplet,
His was an ocean He drank down to its dregs—
the cup of wrath not passed from Him.
If my hunger was a grain of sand,
His was the desert he endured for forty days and forty nights, yet without sin.
His death on the cross—a black hole,
pulling sin and sorrow into Himself,
the sky went dark, the veil torn in two.
But His resurrection—
a radiant supernova,
like the trumpet sound at the end of the age,
a stone rolled back to unveil eternity.
To be human is to be hungry.
The only way to be satisfied
is to savor the wedding supper of the Lamb—
when Christ is united with His church,
and there is revival.
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