The Puzzle

We are born with a piece of the puzzle
Spending our lives
Trying to fashion sense
From those fragments,
Those moments
That seem so random
Holes in the whole,
Incompleteness,
Marred,
Flawed,
Lacking.
We spend our lives
Trying to find that central piece
That unifies and defines us
Without realizing
It is the entirety
Not some singularity
That reveals the answer,
The picture,
That shows us who we are.
And though we may feel
That we are constructing some prison
From the disparate parts,
Sealing ourselves within a tomb,
A cold monument to something
Once warmed by rage,
We are actually completing
God's unfinished work
Giving voice
To a mere whisper
And crafting a masterpiece
From vague shadow.