A Part

Could never see the whole,
While picking through the parts;
Could never sense my body,
I was made of broken hearts.

I'm told there is a forest,
I'm just bumping into trees;
I'm blind to the Divine and Holy,
But see suckers on their knees.

She pointed at the mountain,
"Don't you see, it's there!"
"That pile of dirt and rocks?
Please, just let me stroke your hair."

I hear that there's a neighbourhood,
I know there's stores and such;
And plentiful shuffling junkies,
I see one beaten with his own crutch.

I'm familiar with my house,
Of bricks and wood and nails;
But a house is not a home I've heard,
Also heard houses filled with wails.

I suppose I have a family,
All the necessary blood;
Brothers, parents, units with potential,
But bereft of binding mud.

It's time to get a life,
I know this to be true;
So here is breath and pumping blood,
But so as no mud, so too no glue.