Mosaic

I'm picking up pieces of mem'ries that broke in my mind; 

mosaic them together so much better but with no sense of time.

I'll wall them off with stained glass so when I look through

everything is beautiful, though nothing's quite true.

There are no words,

no syntax, just sinew.

It's not your beliefs,

but choices that define you...

Here I sit suturing shards of this life that's no longer my own;

I'll sweep up the rubble and from it I build my new home.

I'll wall it off with ivy so that when sun shines through

everything is beautiful and the colors are true.

All my compiled 

               contradictions 

                    coalesce to create me,

but I don't mind the patchwork, 'cause it makes a better story.