tired canyon
It calls to me, a silent song,
A hunger that feels deep and strong.
I walk among the crowded shelves,
A thief within, but no one tells.
The things I take, they’re not for need,
But something deep, a darker seed.
It pulls me close, it makes me yearn,
A fire that no one can discern.
I reach, I grasp, I feel the thrill,
The weight of something, stolen still.
I hide it well, I lock it tight,
But inside, I know it’s not right.
I don’t need gold, or wealth, or fame,
But still, the urge will call my name.
A piece of paper, a fleeting coin,
Something I’ve taken, a moment to join.
I feel the rush, the fleeting high,
But in the dark, I wonder why.
The things I take will never fill,
This empty hole that haunts me still.
It’s not the object that I crave,
But the act that makes me feel brave.
But when the thrill begins to fade,
I’m left with guilt, a price I’ve paid.