Where does enough come from, then?
How is my heart satisfied?
When do the words reach the end, I wonder?
When, if all else has been tried?
Is this the curse of all love--
That all are left feeling unclean,
Unfulfilled, missing pieces, and dry
And by all others, unseen?
Is there a hope beyond men
If no man can fill up the holes?
Was my heart once filled up, but no more?
Was it happiness truth and love stole?
Some souls which are meant to be three
Forget and remain one or two;
Will they feel yet a lack and a want
If the one they are missing is you?
postscript
I think I know the answer. But how far does the answer go? I think that's what my soul struggles with my mind about.