Painstakingly picking up colourful shards,
Inspecting, selecting, rejecting discards,
The artist methodically adds a piece here:
An image mosaic begins to appear.
Each piece on its own is a part of the story
But in solitude, none can exhibit its glory.
A masterpiece made up of thousands of parts;
Until it’s complete, it conceals its true art.
Life’s a mosaic of abstract extremes,
A collation of seemingly disparate themes.
Ironically, milestones that make up a life
Are quite often those most connected with strife
Or oftentimes episodes most unexpected
While, elsewhere, our energies are most directed.
Out of life’s refuse, by hindsight extruded,
One’s mosaic image is finally concluded.
17 January 2015