I never sought completeness

I never sought completeness. Instead, I await
dissatisfaction or doubt. With fierce sorrow I will play
for a while. At each day's sunset, pain-wrapped
past will grow solitary. Then, disgusted, I'll fling it
into sparse spaces and bloom near memory in sunlight.

I never sought completeness. Unseen fatigue enchants the mind. At the wellspring of apparent sorrow I will hold steady
full fruition. So in mythic seas, the echo of stumbled thirst. Moist air births itself
in rain's simplicity. Only thirst remains on shores of sand-embraced breast.

Contrary winds. Yet above, the flame's discipline burns. When the ocean churns, throat-lodged sorrow becomes memory.
I will never again go to the melancholy tree's roots. In tender sunlight tremble echoes, good fortune and such.