So do lives. So do people. So do I. So many pieces, sharp, painful - the shards more than the shattering.
The jigsaw of life is made of glass shards - shards that must all fit, no leftovers, no stray pieces from another's puzzle. Some pieces are missing - gaps in this construction, gaps in memory, in dreams, dreams lost or thrown away. How can I build a life with gaps. Perhaps those gaps are how we connect.
You may fill my empty spaces.
Author notes
From an early exercise in intuitive writing.
A contest entry
- Just talk to me; by ElectricBloom.
400 points, ended November 14, 41 entries
• next poem in this contest, • Add to finalists list, or remove from contest
Please Crtique - I intend to revise this.
Comments
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The ultimately gratifying thing is when we find out that we can somehow gather these precious and brutal shards of sorrow and turn them into a stained glass work of art. Very cool penning, Poet. Good luck in the contest. 
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I liked the visual expression you put into the poem here Beth! Well written and executed. Thanks again!
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