Book Of Counted Sorrows

Not Enough

How much Pain can paper hold?

All the Pain, in a world so cold?

Or perhaps too much that can be told...

        Or not enough to save your Soul.

Not Enough. Space manifold.

Betwixt thick lines- words unfold.

Each syllable- its own Black Hole.

       Paper cannot Pain, encode.

How many Tears can the eye contain

And still see through the endless Pain?

All the tears? As much as rain?

      Or not enough to keep you Sane.

Not Enough. Wrists are slain.

Mortal eyes cannot sustain

The constant downpour of the brain.

        No eye can Sight and Tears, maintain.

How much Laughter can you fake,

And still be true for laughter's sake?

All the laughter you need to make?

      Or not enough to compensate-

Not Enough.  Lips lacerate,

Like open wounds upon the face.

Leaving the Soul to detonate...

       No mouth should mournful mirth; uptake.

How many Smiles can Sad Lips form?

All the smiles? From dusk till dawn?

Or perhaps too many-  some still-born...

      Or not enough. Rook takes Pawn.

Not Enough. Souls are torn

In facial games like linguiform.

And eyes belie... the depths betorn.

       When Lips eclipse to mirth forlorn.

How many Lies can one Ear hear

And still find Truth when Truth is near?

Perhaps too much for Truth to bear-

      Or not enough...   Truth disappears.

Not Enough. Words insincere

Have wrought a World of Silence, here.

Man-  the Verbal Engineer;

      Yet this simple Truth-

               He can't cohere...

   Words cannot to Truth and Lies- adhere.

How many times can one Heart bleed

And still have Love, when others need?

All the drops? To fill a Sea?

      Or not enough...  Eyes can't perceive.

Not Enough. Hearts retrocede;

To inner depths before it wept and thus achieve

Too slippery a thing for Sorrows to cleave.

       No Heart can Hate and Love, receive.

How many Reasons can Fate contrive?

Reasons for tender hearts to survive?

Perhaps too many to realize...

      Or not enough to save their Lives.

Not Enough. Youth martyrized,

While trying to acclimatize

To the fact that Life is full of Lies-

      Our Young; once Truth is realized,

                 Would rather Die.

Not enough Smiles that are True from the start.

Not enough Love, left in the Heart.

Too many Lies- precious words slain...

      Not enough Paper to hold all the Pain.

Not Enough. We should be shamed.

Artifice has taken the place of Pain.

We no longer stop to care... or think-

       What's going to happen when we run out of Ink?

             Where then,

                   Will all the excess go?

      

 Fate's final Adagio.

Not enough Tears. Whence did they flee?

Dead pools drowning the Soul of Me.

Not enough Reasons- 

...match Paper to Pain...

    ..and there're not enough Lines to hold

           Twisted

                   Words

           Slain.