Patchwork

Of all the things existence deigns upon us there isn’t one more precious to our kind 

than the misread and undervalued gift of freedom, a gift we’re blinded to when we are young. 

You live your life you think, but your life lives you, with million lines that hook into your blood.

If you try to remove them they seek vengeance, and rip out painfully your rebel heart. 

If you do not they fester over decades, and collect ooze, and puss, and wretched bile, 

and you no longer can escape their talons, because their poison’s fused into your side.

Some people see the truth while they’re still youthful, the lucky few, but who am I to know, 

maybe it’s not a gift to see your future strung up and hog tied to the world below. 

More often though the people will span lifetimes oblivious to what populates their mind, 

obediently following their heart strings, believing it’s their will that holds them down.

And then there are the odd, the strange, the loners, whose hooks snap in the middle of the dance, 

who stay behind to find their scattered pieces in order to retrieve their only chance.

There are so many, those important morsels, and it’s not easy telling them apart 

while floating in the middle of existence untethered, with the anchor cables cut. 

I’m not so sure what I picked are my pieces, although I think I’ve gathered quite a lot, 

and I won’t be returning rogue components that managed to find room into my heart.

You see, the hooks ripped tears into its essence, tears that need filled in order to survive, 

consider those strange patches a donation, the transplant which restored the gift of life.

It will no doubt take years and maybe decades to sort out all the sources of my sight, 

it’s like composing a gigantic puzzle by matching parts from disparate box lots. 

Some people fear the mangle they’re becoming, they can’t relate to their composite heart. 

I see restoring mine as a great privilege and the most selfless gift I ever got.

I don’t know if the parts I lost were valuable, I was too young then, when I lost control, 

but I do know the ones I found are priceless, those shining lights bedazzling my soul.