Piecemeal

Cobbled together from what was to what is,
Patchwork I am, the old and the new
Pieces of me from scattered times knitted
With new hope, of the new me's to be
A pull of my thread and I'm scattered again,
Windblown and tossed on a breeze
'Til by Your hand my parts are sewn together
Cleaner and more whole than they were
No rhythm or rhyme to my multi-hued form
It seems common patches of cloth I share with all
Whole I am, when I'm torn, with my stuffing exposed
And real when Your hand touches me once more

Thom Jankowski