What is enough?
And why is it never?
What makes something whole,
but then we question whether?
Whether it's right.
Whether it's wrong.
Whether it's us.
Whether or not it's
Enough.

The Answer we long to know.
But never want to ask.
The question so simple, yet so hard to grasp.
We dread the truth but despise the lie.
Because deep in our being,
we feel it's no surprise.
You put on the front, but deep down you wonder.
Is everything I am,
Everything I ponder,
Enough?

Enough is a word,
so often used.
We forget what it means, yet think it absurd.
Enough we say,
but don't really mean.
Our tongues are a sword, and as it would seem,
Enough.

So what is enough?
and why do we ask it?
We try to obtain it,
but in the end, it's a casket.
For enough.