Whispers of the Soul

SA

Pieces of Me

In the quiet of twilight, I stand in my space,
Surrounded by shards of a life I can't trace.
The echoes of laughter, now whispers of pain,
Each memory splintered, a drop of cold rain.

Like broken glass scattered on an old, dusty floor,
Each piece tells a story, yet speaks of no more.
Reflections distorted, they catch bits of light,
But the beauty is lost in the shadows of night.

I gather the fragments, my heart in dismay,
A jigsaw of moments that slipped away.
Once whole and unguarded, I now feel the strain,
Each piece of my essence imbued with disdain.

Some shards are of courage, bright glimmers of hope,
Yet others are heavy, like stones tied to rope.
I search for the edges, the outlines of me,
But the puzzle feels endless, a quest with no key.

The girl in the mirror feels distant, so far,
Her spirit eclipsed by a darkened memoir.
With every small piece, I confront my despair,
A mosaic of anguish, a tapestry bare.

I try to remember the laughter, the light,
Before the world shattered, before the long night.
But the pieces are tangled, each one a reminder
Of battles within that keep growing much kinder.

Yet still, as I sift through this chaos and grief,
I glimpse at the fragments, each one holds belief.
For within this confusion, a strength starts to rise,
A flicker of hope that ignites from the cries.

I'll gather the pieces, each hurt and each scar,
And slowly assemble my truth from afar.
For though I am broken, I'm learning to see,
That the beauty of me lies in pieces set free.

I am not just the trauma, the fear or the loss,
But a mosaic of courage, no matter the cost.
So I'll take every fragment, both painful and sweet,
And create a new canvas, a life to complete.

In the cracks and the chaos, a new self will emerge,
From the shards of my being, I'll find my own surge.
For in every sharp edge, in each jagged decree,
Lies a story of healing, the pieces of me.