07 March 2015


Nothing more than some raw poetry at three in the morning. 

Pieces of people 

Are all you see

Never grasping the whole

Of what they might be

Look with your eyes

See with your heart

Take all of them in 

From the very start.


Pieces on the floor

Tiny slivers, larger shards

Each a dagger, slicing me open

Wounds real and perceived

Draining me to the core.


Pieces of a puzzle

Try to make them fit

Can't see the picture 

Make no sense of it

So tired 

Need to rest

Dawn comes

New day, new test


We always share

Pieces of ourselves


Carefully portioned and packaged

Giving you the best

Hiding the rest

The dark, the deep, 

The innermost parts we are not proud of

Or comfortable with. 

You take those few pieces

Try to make them fit

But there are always holes

And you cry, "To hell with it!"

Take all the pieces out,

Put them all together

It's the only path to love. 




  1. It is indeed the only path. Years ago back before blogs I wrote a piece called facets, you've stripped away the babble of my writing to expose the heart of it. Hugs

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