The Puzzle

 Some say the world is a story,
or is it a puzzle?
How does one describe the act of taking
Bits of reality and putting them together?
What does one do when the pieces don't lock together?

Why is so much of the world ugly and broken?
Why is evil the only thing that makes it whole?
Is our world so awful that goodness can't save us?
What happens when you can't stand
How the pieces fit together?

When a story is written, it feels complete.
When a puzzle is complete, a picture comes into view.
Life will never be that way as long as we are living it.
I know this, but I never thought about how much I hated it.
Until now.
Now the world has become a puzzle
That will not fit together.
Now the world has become a story
That can never be told.
How does one live a life without meaning?