Merinder's House

What is too much? Is it an ordeal which does not end, a long flood or relentless hunger? Is it fear which digs deep and wakes each morning the same? Is it hurt where no hurt should be, and malice, misdirected and out of hand? Is it fervour, or moderation, both taken to extremes?

Is too much a mountain, seen from the foot, or a chasm seen from the edge? Is it an excess of the mundane or a longing for it? Are we subject to it or do we seek it, and where do we draw the line or write the rules? Is too much yours or is it mine? Can it make us right or call us wrong, and when are we ever safe from it?

And what is too little? Is it a lack or a fear of commitment, a failure to respond or to rise when rising is called for? Is it the mundane or a facet of it, creeping into the rules and greeting us each morning before breakfast? Is it forgotten or too much remembered, and where does it begin and end?

Is too little a half finished dream, interrupted by a call to arms? Is it a half-hearted plea or an unanswered prayer, and is it the lie we tell or the truth we seek? Is it a weak line or incongruity? Is too little yours or is it mine?

And were I to hazard a guess, the answer may lie in whether we fear too much or too little, and dream too little or too much?