Behind the sky the Weaver knits All beautiful and ugly things Together as with perfect wit She severs and she stings. Each and every little soul Safe to her downy back she brings While their forgotten lullabies She strums on silver strings.
I am a seamstress stitching life together in harmony creating beauty every place my needle breaches You are the weaver you dart in and out of lives loosely dragging us along to the knotted finish line weaver and seamstress met and you are persuasive performing the drama and I believed seamstress and weaver could create a masterpiece so fine to last for all our days and yet you have taken your dagger through our greatest tapestry destroyed what I had birthed you laugh because you do not know the seamstress's needle knows no bounds and your eyes always too far apart
please give me validation I'm sad... jkjk... unless?
. Walk through the silence of a lonely tapestry, its mute single thread trying to Canute the night, knowing it must ride the Moon to dance with the stars. Blood red ink. Ink red blood. Across pages it falls, words of needlepoint pain screaming at the audience, the Moon has been deflowered and the stars dance alone. Cedar wood smoke perfumes the stench of lethargy, from an open log fire throwing flickers of hopeful light, flame fingers burn the Moon as the stars cry for the weaver.
Knit one, word. Pearl, a verse. That’s what a poet weaver does.
Pen becomes needle, to wrap around visions. Periods slip markers, giving writer pause.
Lyrics surface in mind to cable cast upon poem. Daisy stitch, field blossoms within a poesy song.
And in deepen breath weaver binds off to end with love stitch, word... Perhaps, giving reader chance to Run Stitch with eyes cross finished textured page.
We are all weavers creating lives for the soul. Some do it in the tapestry of a poetry. Others Weave inside their lives to manifest experiences. And some even weave, with paint to make a masterpiece as DaVinci did. We are all expert weavers constructing a road of stitch like steps. Steps that with focus can lead to peace.
I create the biggest most soothing dream that I could ever imagine; all of my wants and all of my current needs I put into it.
I invest all of my life energies into the dream and then I crush it.
I really mean that I crush it.
It gets scattered into millions of pieces of stardust and meteorites sprinkled among the mountains and dales of the galaxies and beyond.
Nothing fails as nothing is started. I am nothing. I become nothing and I stay as nothing until a new dream appears and the process is repeated once again. It expands and shrinks as it blinks back at me.