Pieces

There are pieces of you all around me.
Yet you are nowhere near them.
Each one creates another memory,
while my ability to cope grows thin.

Each piece is part of a whole;
a whole I was once a part of.
This fragmentation I feel in my soul
is, oddly, a Godsend from above.

So why should something so right
tear at every though I have?
Why should, every minute, I fight
the memory of something I once had?

I feel God's hand tightly around this,
with my hands rightfully off.
Yet still my heart burns with anguish
from that, which I consider loss.

I look upon each piece I have left
and wonder why they are all.
So away from pain, I take small steps.
Drops, from me, continue to fall.

For pain is a liquid I suck like a sponge
but squeeze each drop I possibly can.
There is a dryness toward which my heart doth lunge.
For only then can I fully stand.

But why this pain must I endure
for something as right as I am sure?

I sit and think of the pain I hold
and wonder why it must be;
when fulfilling God's will I am bold,
I lose something so precious to me.

I know that only time will free
a heart, from which this pain could stem.
But there are pieces of you all around me,
and yet you are nowhere near them.

POEMS