To The Ends Of The Earth Poem by Dan Frank

Oh love, where is thy sting-
In this, my hour most foul?
Through fields of famine and forests of fear I hath travelled
Only to be withheld of my indulgences
Fountains shall run dry that once flowed freely
Wishing on stars that never fall
Feeling as though I never do right
Hoping to get lost on a sea of hate
Searching for something that is long gone
Nothing shall appease my insatiable appetite
Not even what I'm looking for