Not Enough

Not enough to make the perfect beast,

Held, compelled, by puppet strings above.

For not until his will could be released

Could ever there, in truth, exist . . . a love.

Thus, unshackled, free to choose, he rose.

“Not enough,” said he.

And so it goes . . .

Not enough to leave mankind below—

Tragic, willing marionettes of Death,

For, He loved these foolish creatures so,

Fragile things, a brief and dying breath.

And so: to leave or rescue them? He chose.

“Not enough,” said they.

And so it goes . . .

On and on the petty mantra stands.

“Not enough!” we cry, and stamp our feet.

“We never will give in to your demands!”

And, tantrum-led, His gentle face we beat.

We will not rest, ‘till trampled in the sod,

We find the mutilated face . . . of god.