No More Poem by Benjamin Rome Clarke

I appeal to you,
No more, no more.
And yet you reply,
More! Oh, more's to come!
And be it that.
More arrives the next day.
More drives through my walls
And knocks over the stack of books
That are me;
That were me.
That would seem to be me to some
But not for others
And why?
For the purpose of more?
And what is more's purpose?
If more's purpose is more,
And more breeds more,
What more is there?
What more remains but more?
More takes its teeth and it eats away
At my unhappy hours
Spent in idle misery.
A misery whose abuse only I can hear.
The misery of being more,
And yet less.
I ask you, more.
I ask you, more.
I want you, more.
I do.
But I ought not have more.
You ought not arrive
To feed the monster of my misery.
No more a slave to more
I must become.
And yet,
To be free from more,
I myself must be
No more.