Crank It Up
A broken piece to a puzzle can never be filled in the space that is forgotten
The ends are jagged and the lines are too rigid to fit
This leaves the full picture lackluster and empty to the hand that places the piece
So the puzzle is thrown away
No longer good to the creator
But the piece is far from forgotten
The picture that could have been, is sealed to the mind of the beholder
And the creation that was never finished leaves a bitter taste in the mouth
Little did the hand that places know that the piece
Believed to be rotten
Was but the final remnant to the image that was never wanted
But always needed
This is the dead
These are the Kings
Welcome
You are the only one who sees
What's behind my eyes
Everything comes but never leaves
My mind