Psyche's jigsaw

In puzzled, plaintive ponderings,
the image sure was searched,
of Self as deep surrenderings;
the pieces, scattered, hurt.
Finding shapes which fitted,
to hold the picture clear,
was Soul's allotted tasking,
to bring me into being.
It was not with understanding,
that all the work was done,
but finding the connections;
inserting one by one.
Through steady, slow selecting,
all would be found a place,
as psyche's jigsaw was restored;
and I could see my face.

http://dversepoets.com/2013/07/06/poetics-puzzled/#respond

Remembering

In solid, sure remembering the days were written,
as if to hold in darkest ink, the truth,
and yet within the circling, lying words there lay,
deception such as I had never known.
It made of wandering, lettered life my stories,
and yet, had scattered them as merest dross,
for there was pure intent and deep flawed falling,
as message wandered, helpless, dark and lost.
The thoughts and spoken words were ever cast,
through wooded, wild and woeful forests deep,
dismembered as the psyche's shattered face,
and left to lie in cold, tormented sleep.