A thousand pieces I left, just in case
I ever found where they belonged,
in a cluttered attic full of dreams,
dusty thoughts, and unfinished songs,
upon a shelf tucked in the back
and in a box labelled “Another day”
with edges tattered and water stained
from years of sitting in the rain.
Someday the fragments won’t be so rough
with edges softened by the winding clocks
and by the heart of the one that wonders
what’s hidden beneath the rusted locks.
It hides the parts of me once new,
but discarded, broken, and then left
in the mud to be carelessly trampled on
by the lies that walk beneath the steps
of the house once lived in down the road
with its tilted shutters and broken walls
a twisted shadow of what could have been
had its former owner cared at all.
Today though, I saw a new box
delivered directly to my door
Its edges sturdy and made of wood
and painted white and clean and pure.
Safely tucked within were waiting
a thousand pieces matching mine.
And on the slip, the bill of sale,
was inked the signature, “Divine”
From the old into the new
my thousand no longer were alone,
but rather in a box, placed upon my heart
and labelled “Welcome home!”