Enough

the beasts that till your poisoned soil

carve patterns in your furrowed brow

that signify the burdens borne

in the silence of your tortured nights

and the futility of your empty days

now you sup from a bitter cup

while reciting your litanies of spite

of love’s bloody negotiations

and the terrible price you paid

for such slight return

your sadness tastes like ashes

you have told yourself you’ve had enough.