In the silent chamber where the writer toils,
A question echoes, in the mind it coils.
How much is too much, where’s the boundary?
At what point does prose lose its harmony?
Is it in the surplus of similes,
Or the abundance of narratives that please?
Maybe it’s in the story’s pace,
Or the character’s journey through time and space.
Yet, the writer’s spirit seeks to break free,
For in the realm of words, they find their spree.
Each paragraph, a world; each word, a friend,
A tapestry of tales, with no end.
So let the stories unfold, let the characters grow,
For ‘too much’ is a limit, they refuse to know.
In the wealth of narrative, a lesson we learn,
That ‘just enough’ is a tide that can turn.
