Poem: He Spoke of A Missing Hunger
He Spoke of A Missing Hunger
The hunger is not missing,
not now. I do not think it ever was:
maybe it was unnoticed
or unheeded or abandoned
and ignored, maybe, but missing?
No. It waited, if anything.
But now, it is not waiting,
will not wait, refuses waiting,
is a snarling hunger,
is the call of wolves
who smell a feast
in the coldest wind of Winter,
is deep, cannot imagine patience.
The hunger, he spoke of it,
said it was missing,
was needed. Now:
there is a hunger,
but a hunger
that needs feeding
though there is nothing,
there is nothing for it,
is only the hunger itself,
nothing here even
to begin its satiation.
not now. I do not think it ever was:
maybe it was unnoticed
or unheeded or abandoned
and ignored, maybe, but missing?
No. It waited, if anything.
But now, it is not waiting,
will not wait, refuses waiting,
is a snarling hunger,
is the call of wolves
who smell a feast
in the coldest wind of Winter,
is deep, cannot imagine patience.
The hunger, he spoke of it,
said it was missing,
was needed. Now:
there is a hunger,
but a hunger
that needs feeding
though there is nothing,
there is nothing for it,
is only the hunger itself,
nothing here even
to begin its satiation.
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