I move at the mercy of the winds and the moon,
Cycling without volition,
Yearning for the nameless,
Weaving blindly in a web
obscured by cobwebs,
Sensing a rhythm that falters, resumes, shifts under my feet.
Random strands glisten in sunlight,
evanesce in moonlight,
offering glimpses of pattern.
Who weaves?
Child? Mother? Crone?
To what purpose?
I long for vision.
But the weaving of the tapestry goes on
in faith and love.
A people’s heart can be found in their poetic words. In history men and women have stood firmly upon their soapboxes and street corners, rallying the deepest beliefs of people to rise up and be heard. The poetrypages.com has offered that voice a new
Dan
enjoyed.....Art Sun...