It’s Saturday, but that makes no difference.
I am greedy; greedy for today, greedy for its end,
greedy for tomorrow.
I want it all. Every single thing I see, touch, taste.
I am greedy for now, and longing for the next,
anxious to know, greedy for surprise.
What makes a greedy life, except a hunger for it?
Am I the only one harboring such openly secret
greed? Why would I want to end the chance for more?
Perhaps ending this life is only another greed;
a greed for what is next, a can’t-wait, selfish wish
for what I do not know, that exists not in the now.
But still too greedy for that. I want more of now;
More pain, more relief, more happy, more sad, so much
more praise, unqualified acceptance; could I be greedy for less?
Less of sorrow, less of desire, fewer tears, greed
arrives masked or unmasked. Stylish perfection,
acceptable; a jealousy, ugly and purely self-serving.
What is greed but over-zealous desire?
And what is such desire except hunger
for more or less, too much or none?
Greed has no in-between. Now, or
what could only be never. Greed
knows nothing of patience or satisfaction.
Too much, over-done, more whipped cream,
on top, beneath, within. An eternal list; an angry
demand for more eternity. And should all greed be satisfied –
Who would go without? Who would never
know the warm desire for simple fulfillment?
Does greed care? Sweating and freezing with
Imagined inadequacy, greed will never feel a cool breeze,
or live, understanding the exquisite familiar sharing, the
radiance, warmth from the abundance of enough. . .
For greed all nature is too little.
Lucius Annaeus Seneca