When is sufficiency achieved?
Is it not the proficiency of a skill accomplished?
Does it have a judge or require a collection of ballots accounted?
Do we begrudge or wonder so much to inquire what’s tested?
Willfully sought or unwittingly walked into?
Walls no less bought than the grounds owned that we’ve been to?
The construct of what we’ve constructed from the fathoms of our own?
Regrets or ideals shucked from crops we haven’t self-sown?
When is it a limit or boundary that can be touched or met?
Some force contrary to fear that led us to self bet?
Another pushed through formidable tides to give satisfaction?
Crushing someone true in combat without retracted action?
Blank or filled with thoughts to fill a book?
Is any feeling wrought by soul of deserving look?
Forming an opinion, is that not rough?
I am enough, enough, enough.