Ode to Bits and Pieces and Particles

Introduction to the Ode entitled: To Bits and Pieces and Particles.

I seem to always find bizarre meaning in the mundane. Over the weekend, I was browsing a website and came across a moving story mournfully typed by some poor soul who had just suffered an apparently devastating break-up. Normally, I am unfazed by most youthful, insignificant losses, until I serendipitously read and analyzed further his discourse. He described the cruel separation in full, lamenting, but civilly speaking of the injuries she committed against him. So, in spite of that apparent pain, there was no malice in the tone of his diction; nothing to suggest he felt any animosity towards her for what she had inflicted upon him. That said, it would do well for my poetic effort to quote him:

‘I miss her. And I will always love her to bits and pieces and particles.’

Then he addresses her directly.

‘You will always be the shades on my warm sunny day.’

I read his narrative of his lost unrequited love, thinking that I have never read any one whole person described as bits and pieces and particles, it was as if he were insightful enough to portray humans for what they truly are: infinitely numbered radiating parts of a whole.

And then I thought, when there are that many fractions of any given human, so many facets of their persona, there are, inevitably, the bits and pieces and particles that are less than what we expect from a perfect friend, lover, confidant, sibling…and we touch those facets, those abhorrent parts. We touch them willingly, even eagerly; because after a time…it is not that we cannot see their failures anymore, and not that we overlook them after the sight, but rather that we take those socially detestable facets, by the metaphorical hand and we sigh sweetly, ‘do not ever change.’ So before having that revelation, if I had ever had any uncertainties as to what unconditional love was, I certainly comprehend now.

 

To Bits and Pieces and Particles

There are divisions of thee, rippling my blood-

Like a World War battle on the Philippine Sea;

Like the stone I have skipped across a lake,

All we’ve known are throws and blows born in misery.

The unsightly, the vengeful, the impure;

An angry anomaly that slams a bedroom door.

The finest bits and pieces and particles which combined,

kissed the mortal mold, mated, and fashioned your physical divine.

 

Beginning with amorous atoms into malevolent molecules-

I still want those wicked portions; they are your sempiternal jewels.