Wanting: A poem 

Necessity is bare as Eve’s lap 

Innocence before the ominous trap 

Need is like a walking stick 

The candle, to burn, needs a wick 

Desire is like a dancer’s swirls 

The straight tresses permed into curls 

Ambition is a racehorse’s run 

It is heated till the race is won 

Greed says it will never be enough 

The fabric is rich, but its texture is rough 

Megalomania is a blackhole that swallows 

The stars are crushed like victims at the gallows 

When wants are many as the swarms of bees 

Honey becomes bitter like the sap of trees