To a friend who lost his pieces:
Only I can define the missing pieces and insert/reinsert
sometimes folks leave things unfinished by choice
like wars and conflicts, they are better when ceased
I forget often the moments that passed
thank god, for I don't want their memories to last
my innocence lost was hard to ignore
but the statements I've made have mattered more
I've smashed, burned and tossed out those unwelcome bits
I'd rather have holes, than lose my wits
sure others have brilliance in places I don't
yet I have strength in my trials when others won't
mysterious who? what? and why?
I have found no answers, of that I can't lie
they murdered my childhood and left adolescence for dead
should I mourn them forever or embrace now instead
do I grieve for the family I never knew,
polished like religion from my own jaded view
like black holes in galaxies missing pieces have power
to steal from my soul if my mind circles for hours
once the puzzle is filled will I be a contender
or continue to function in my role as pretender
all the scattered pieces lost on life's floor
dusty with age, bent, scratched and torn
by sweeping them up will I be disillusioned
still stalked by the sense of that "normal" illusion
if I misplace the bits in their place of origin
will I create new chaos in places where it might not have been
It isn't the gaps that confuse my being
it isn't the holes that give lonely a meaning
it isn't the illusion of not having a sense
of the flatness of the picture that is my content
boredom didn't spring from an empty space
fear's yet another demon I put in that place
If we are constant beings then yes, the holes are bad
or do we evolve to an intimacy of purpose that's not at all sad
