The One Who Craves More

They are not starved  

who holds a small bowl-

only the one who keeps  

scraping its bottom  

for a feast that was never there.

Hunger is a quiet thing  

until you feed it.  

Then it grows teeth.  

Then it learns your name.  

Then it drags you by the throat  

toward the next glittering promise.

The one who craves more  

walks with pockets full of holes,  

pouring out their peace  

grain by grain,  

never noticing the trail  

of everything they once loved  

spilled behind them.

They mistake the ache for ambition,  

the emptiness for destiny,  

the wanting for worth.  

But craving is a furnace  

that burns the hand  

that keeps it stoked.

And so they become poor-

not in coin,  

but in calm.  

Not in wealth,  

but in wonder.  

Not in possessions,  

but in the ability  

to feel full.

For nothing ruins one faster  

than the belief  

that the next thing  

will finally be enough.