A Poem #79 – Greed

A morsel becomes a handful
which in turn becomes a mouthful whilst the hand is full.
Need becomes greed
as swift as the thoroughbred steed that runs far out in the lead.
The last now ahead of the pack
joyful and ignorant as the nat and all the while as blind as the bat.
Untraceable as the ghost,
all of us, hosts, a whisper of wind upon the foreign coast.
I assure you this is what we needed the most:
This emptiness – to which we raise a toast.

JP Collins


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