The Hunger of Poems


I write because your reading feeds me
My pen exists because words need me
Each spill of ink, each drop of blood
A new branch grows, a new leaf buds
With every new verse, a piece of me dies
But for this poem to exist you must realize
It nourishes itself upon my very soul
Consumes and assumes me, makes me old
So please read slowly, my existence demands
A frugal consumption, this poem in your hands
When you have finished, with closed eyes pray
There’s a few words left for another day.

2 thoughts on “The Hunger of Poems

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