A hollow hunger, deep inside, No gentle craving to abide. But something vast, a gaping need, Where the reason plants no fruitful seed. The table groans, a laden sight, With colors bold and tempting light. And still the hand, it will not cease, To pile the plate, to find no peace. Each savory scent, a siren's call, To fill the void, engulf it all. The sweet, the rich, a heady brew, Consumed with haste, and little chew. Beyond the point of feeling full, A driving force, a stubborn pull. To taste it again, and yet once more, Ignoring whispers at the door. The body sighs, a heavy weight, A consequence considered late. But still the urge, a restless fire, Fuels this insatiable desire. A gilded cage, this endless feast, Where true contentment is deceased. A yearning soul, it cannot mend, With mountains eaten, without end.