There’s this hunger inside of me
A living, writhing thing of many limbs
Ever insisting, never satiated
My mind demands literature, or else I’ll starve
My hands itch for a pen, constantly,
My soul craves music, to keep me young
Yes, there is this great hunger within
Oh what a pleasurable pain it all is!
This cannot be helped, even if I wished it so
Ever persistent, a lifetime couldn’t sate.
© Devina S.