Pieces

Pieces

Trying to complete this puzzle
With pieces I know just won’t fit
The image produced, it is muddled
Yet the heart it will just not admit
What the mind seems to grasp all too easy
With pieces forced here and there
Why such inconsistencies please me,
I really can’t fathom or bare
The picture’s a desert, a wasteland
In the middle, oasis, mirage
Out of context, coerced and so unplanned
It makes for a flighty collage
A bright coloured bird perched on deadwood
Driftwood down vibrant blue streams
Streamers to mark where the shed stood
That stored all my wildest dreams
Dreams still right there, slightly buried
The pieces well bedded and ground
With pieces discovered and ferried
To mix with the lost and the found
And who knows, the picture may flourish
Pieces might merge where they’re sewn
Yet the mind knows the hearts undernourished
… and just yearns for some peace of its own