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I see the pieces on the ground,
So broken, scattered, torn.
The pieces long forgotten,
Continents and oceans overworn.
Nepal, Hawaii, St. Lucia
In a long, congested heap.
The passed families stay afloat,
Souls torn by the Reap.
With tears welling in my eyes,
Like the Victoria Falls I hold,
I arrange my lakes and plateaus,
Longing for new gems now old.
In its brokenness, I begin to see
The final picture unfold.
But the jagged ridges jar my sight,
My pieces still dormant and cold. ...
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