When is it Enough?
How long must the open hand remain,
When the other will not meet its strain?
The core dilemma of the human tie,
A painful question of loyalty,
Endurance, and how much self-worth you'll spend,
To reach a silence that will never end.
How long does the title of "friend" hold true?
When shared history's debt is overdue,
And the present moment is marked by cold harm,
Or the chilling indifference of a broken charm?
When does the label become a hollow sound,
A testament to what was, not what is found?
Is the sacred practice of prayer still right,
For a soul unconcerned with your day or night?
Does intercession become a painful toll,
A thankless rite for a disregarding soul?
The spirit's commitment is tested and frayed,
By the walls of betrayal that have been laid.
When they tarnish your name with calculated lies,
How long do you absorb the pain behind your eyes?
When they won’t speak, a barrier high and stout,
How long do you knock before you turn about?
When they treat your existence as insignificant air,
How much can your spirit's dignity bear?
The waiting is a sacrifice you choose to make,
A pause of your own joy for a lost past’s sake.
But waiting is a cost that drains the will,
A stalling on the path that you must fulfill.
The battle shifts from effort out to inward plea:
Do you still pray? Or is detachment the key?
Is it wrong to move on, to finally not care?
When self-preservation demands a boundary there,
Does moving on become a vital act of grace,
To win back your self-respect in this bitter space?
The heart refuses to comply, that is the pain,
To stop caring is loss, a required emotional wane.
Why does the guilt of leaving cling so tight?
A fear of failing the endless-giving rite.
The mandate to be patient, to forever yield,
While your own peace lies ravaged on the field.
Yet, being "the better person" has a true cost,
It means protecting dignity before all is lost.
When is it enough? When will it ever cease?
The answer is internal, the reclaiming of peace.
Enough is when the cost of staying makes you bleed,
When waiting becomes self-destruction's silent deed.
Enough is when your own well-being takes the lead,
And moving on is liberation—a necessary creed.
More Works by Nancy Ann Creed
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