Almost

A small corner in an old house.
Light on the desk. Some paper
scribbled with fragments
of thought and feelings,
incoherent parts and pieces
of a whole not yet finished,
a gift and a puzzle
with pieces missing,
some stolen, some marred
beyond recognition,
a using of words to make a whole
that may, or may not every exist,
if it ever did.

About this poem

Scars never heal completely. Emotions rarely heal completely. But still, we work at our own healing, aware that while we may never reach where we seek, that in the work itself, we become, if not healed, at the least, better.

Philosophically yours,

Tom