There are not enough tears to express sorrow,

or enough violent acts to express rage.

Not in any true way,

the best we have are words,

because actions seem to fail.

 

One man,

shaking in his sadness,

body convulsing in fits of tears,

and rolling ever so gently back and forth,

trying to rock himself back to sanity.

and it is not true enough. 

 

The stare of betrayed lovers,

digging through years of happiness,

and the built up human coniditoning of love,

to pierce the soul of their former other,

with the hatred of centuries,

fails to explain it.

 

There are an infinite combination of words,

that act as silhouettes

-at best-

in defining how we feel.

 

The word love means everything,

but we can't define it in an acceptable way,

and nobody has the same definition

in their mind r their heart.

 

Love,

hatred,

sadness,

and what else matters?