We, people are like little jigsaw pieces,
And the number of them still increases,
No matter how many of them there might exist,
There is no place for any twist.
If it's really true,
Then who do I belong to?
I never was able to find a part,
That with me could become a work of art.
Is it the edges that need drastic change,
Or is it my heart in need of rearrange?
If I try to apply more force,
Will it change my course?
Why am I constantly pushed out?
And so on I can't stop, but doubt
If was meant to be a piece,
And if I deserve completeness or peace.
It seems like it's considered a crime,
To even yearn to be saved on time.
The amount of tears I had to shed,
Prove I'm simply better off dead.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes of a Shattered Connection
PoetryNavigating the Path from Love to Loss is not in our control. No matter what we could try to do, there is only a slim chance we could actually change love's will and favourites. Love is mainly about grieving. And grief is a huge part of our life, it...
