That fabric which entices me
with its sinister embrace
i shall spin and weave anew, and artfully reface...
transform into a majestic tapestry,
a garment of subtley eloquent grace!
My fingers tremble with such urgency,
honoring every thread and hue.
Listen, even the smallest fiber
is crying out for what is true!
I intend these once darkly woven threads
to express a living light instead...
With intuition my only guide,
by braile these shapes a path provide.
For I am a blind weaver,
sensing without seeing,
and these are the very threads of my being.
Great burdens of sorrow and pain
demand searching for wholeness,
for the sacred unnamed.
As I search for meaning, for buried treasure within
I find more questions about that which has been...
In order to be set completely free,
the past is oddly still yet to be.
But transfigured I am by the weavers hand,
lifelong mending now the ultimate plan.
This intensely complex tapestry,
is creating my self as art, an emerging "me".
threads once lifeless and fragile few
are now ten thousand of brilliant hues.
An impassioned whisper with my breast
says "This IS the quintessential quest!".
As I pursue a clarion way of being,
forgotten truths and illumined seeing.
Salvaged remnants of what is yet unnamed,
amidst tattered memories, shadows and shame.
Will anyone ever please be able to see
the pain, beauty and triumph that is becoming Me?