Somehow Incomplete

​

So much for the illusion -
but in the confusion
of night and day,
I lost my way.
I don't know where I'm going.
Still, what use is knowing?
I can't change my course
onward to the source.

From the beginning,
formless, slowly spinning,
the eternal wheel turns.

Cycle of the heavens,
chase of the seasons,
life rushes past in a whirlwind,
but my days slow to a crawl,
perpetual motion spent.

Empty now, my sleep
reaps no harvest of dreams.
Barren, burnt by the flame
of wasting youth,
I can see the truth.

I am not as I seem -
somehow incomplete.