The fabric of my life is a tapestry
Woven together with tragedy

There are black threads of loneliness
Blue threads of sadness
Red threads of the angriness
Yellow threads for my minds sickness
Orange threads for craziness
Purple for my madness
Gray threads for deeds of heartlessness
Pink threads for those rare moments of tenderness
Of course there is clear, see through thread for the emptiness

Now look really close, fine little silver threads can be found of happiness
As well as shiny bright golden threads of hopfulness
It's what holds it all togeather
So no matter what storm I must weather
My beautifully tragic tapestry will be wrapped tight around me
The picture in the end will be so wonderfully sad and beautiful, it will make your eye's tear just to see

Your mind will have trouble comprehending how something so sad and tragic
Can create something so darkly beautiful, it seems like magic
It's because I've lived in the dark so long
I've learned to see beauty were it seems to not belong
Out of place and wrong

But in the darkness the silver and gold threads shine so bright
You would of never even seen them in the light

It is never about the words I use,

The order,

Disorder,

It is the tangled tapestry between lines,

Try reading it,

Don't look,

Feel,

Inherently the unwritten ink runs darker.

don't force the words on paper
like a tube of oily ink
it will splatter on your hands
make your ego start to shrink
it's OK to wait til later
when the feeling's turning pink
and the slanting green upon the lands
greets raptors slyly with a wink

don't slap a poem on a page
in the haste of no job jitters
you'll only feed a hungry rage
and feel your talent's shivers

unless . . .

the desire to accomplish
burns gallons of the best
and you've shook your soul wide open
put your biceps to the test

your mind has not been empty
but gathered up and stored
every little bit of lyrics filmy
not so unlike a dragon hoard

the words art each embroidered
and silvery trappings fastened on
with diamonds, blood, and feathers
a new masterpiece spins on

A tapestry couldn't do life justice.
Life is like staring down a cloud
Until it has bowed its head to earth
And you put your hand to its brow
Cool its fever and
Give it colour.

Then walk within
And paint yourself on the layers of mist
Life is like your own reflection in thousands of droplets of water
Life is like your grunt echoing in a canyon as you try to climb down.
Life is like your smell as the wind takes it away to another.
Painting myself into a cloud,
I wrap myself inside it and
When I am done with whirling its frozen suspension about me
I tuck myself in
And sleep well.

That is life to me.

long ago,
I was once given
one of the finest pieces
of cloth

only that the cloth was very small
and I had no thread

later,
I was given some nice
golden thread
I had sewn a tiny heart
on the cloth

the next day,
a boy asked to see
my fine tapestry
i was full of smiles

until

I looked at it and saw
a set of terrible words
on the cloth

as i read it my eyes
burned

"jealousy is a nasty *****."

(b.d.s.)

You.
A word once filled with love
Now turned sour
This tapestry
Once a work of art-
Painted with streaks of fury,
Blots of distaste,
A perfect image once presented
Now soiled with hatred
You.
Slid in to my life
Unannounced
Unexpected
Absolutely not unwanted
How could I be so foolish to think
Love?
The smile you had
Safe, warm, welcoming
How was I to know?
You.
Mirrors and smoke screens to hide
What you really were.
I didn't LOVE you
You were merely a stepping stone
A portion of my own painting,
Now blackened and smeared
I didn't love you.
I couldn't love you.
Your tapestry rolled,
But not forgotten.
For how could I forget
This hole that is
You.

it begins
with silky smooth fabric
like tiny cushions on her
delicate skin

she spins
her back arched ever so slightly
the curvatures of her feet
cuts through the empty air

she is swift
she is fast
she is doing what she
knows best

her fragile stability
is as light as a spider
she dances through the darkness
leading light in her path

the inaudible patter
as her feet
gracefully hit the floor
weave a tapestry

of a love unknown.

the sun
rises as
it is done

she does not remain
she is gone
her blood is a
song

sang just before the dawn.

(b.d.s.)