All life seems to be
is a bunch of broken dreams
and I'mhere searching through the shards
trying to figure out who I'm supposed to be
I cut my fingers on one of the pieces
and my hands begin to bleed.
But cut after cut I will not quit.
I will continue to bleed until I have made all of the pieces fit
I must succeed I must set myself free.
This cannot be what the Lord intended for me.
Come to think about it; didnt his once hands bleed?
Am I trying to make a sacrifice already made for me?
There is just so much That I dont understand.
I guess I must take these pieces
and let them fall from my hands,
let them lie where they may and see what I get.
Anything is better than trying to make all of the pieces fit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem