We All Ask Too Much Poem by Iohannes Silvaticus

It is.
None other than but it is.
Nothing is,
Everything is,
Nothing but this?
Not this.
This is not.
And this?
I think not.
Where can I find this?
I don't know.
Do grey hearts see blue skies?

There is.
But perhaps there isn't.
If there is,
How can there not be?
Perhaps there?
Not there.
Here.
Where?
Where else?
Everywhere,
With love in our hearts
And beauty in our hands.

Perhaps.
Perhaps what?
Perchance?
Let's not take chances.
Is it worth it?
I don't know.
Who would?
Who wouldn't?
How about this?
What's this?
It is a cruel thing.
It leaves hearts forlorn.

What if?
What if not?
Then there be not.
Then there is not.
Let us see not
But all that is
Let all that is not,
Vanish.
If so,
Let it be.
Only time will tell,
What is meant to be.

And then?
What?
How?
Too many questions,
Too little time, too little answers.
Nothing.
There must be something.
Cold as the night sky,
Without a star.
How?
But to love,
And not love.
To die,
But to not die.
To live forever,
But to live for a moment.
A sand on the shore,
A tick on the clock.
There are no tears,
Just sadness
That engulfs, that envelopes,
That elopes with your heart
And never returns.
You will search,
But never find.
It has left
Too many a heart forlorn.
You ask too much.
We all do don't we?
Life isn't as beautiful,
As we hope it to be.
Let us live,
With love in our hearts,
Beauty in our hands,
Peace in our minds,
As we leave our wounds to mend.