Sonnet

I thirst for life and thirsting drink its end

Poor mites received for all my talents spent 

My pitcher down the well again is sent

These husks my food while dirtied sty I tend

Where is the life I want with every urge

Of gods which live within my body's frame?

Shall I with will or culture try to tame

These willing things which deep within me surge?

Or harness them and eating all and all

And thirsting drink with mind submerged beneath?

'Til every shard  has passed between my teeth 

And waters gone the earth all bare to fall

I never ate but soon I ate again

Insatiable I mourn what might have been