We struggle and reach for that which is ours,

to recover once again from a fated defeat.

Pieces of us spread out like flower petals,

blowing in the wind until we finally meet.

Again this has happened because the weak are innocent and strong molded in dark,

Strong they are for they never break. I long for us to be whole again.

This woeful pain I will never take.

Too much is missing, my thoughts are round. Round in a way that they will never escape.

Unless, we find that which is ours to make.

Creating a path to wholeness and health,

from the broken pieces that was myself. 

Miles and miles and miles apart,

until we reach what we were at the start.

No longer do we struggle in vain,

for wisdom breeds from senseless pain.

A body made whole again,

the broken pieces speak.