When do the pieces fall into place?
Is life a puzzle filled with curves and shapes that don't fit:
Big pieces
Small pieces
Pieces with no bloom?
Don't the pieces have to fit together?
Doesn't there have to be rhyme, reason...purpose?
Doesn't there?
Maybe not.
Maybe it's random.
What if the pieces are just pieces
And the rhymes just words that end in different sounds:
Blithe laughter,
Silent screams,
Chords both bitter and sweet?
What if the pieces remain sep'rate?
I am a collection in a single piece.
Beautifully vibrant,
Gracefully muted,
Dissonant...and silent.
Maybe there's beauty in the chaos,
And the purpose in my collection is lone.
Together...
Or apart
A complete work in one.
