The Weaver

[Joyous Song]

The Weaver

Very carefully Arachnid spun the silken thread
Thinner and thinner it became until it was all breath without depth
And very, very long


Then she leaped with artistic acrobatic elegance
And gliding gracefully to branch; catching it with expertise poise
She appended her line

Again the patient spinning ensued as she repeated the spectacle
But a cruel wind uncaring for her industry tore her asunder
Violently from that perch

All that remained of that majestic hope was gone astray
Broken lines and unmet promises cease
So is life!

I as her with her as me,
Thread as thought; her web; my dreams; Come to like end
I reflect; I refrain

The critics cry; simple silence speaks;
They blow; they bluster; they puff like that wind
My works fail, as hers…

Trapped like her bait in this mindless reverie
Blinded by my twisting pride and snared by thoughts
But, my lady was not!

For, again she takes to flight, trailing a slender line
Barely touching golden blade she is aloft again
Wonder ensues, renews

Webs may break, as sure as mine, yet
Strong winds and rains do naught to harm these tiny dances
of life; death

But industry, undaunted rests not weary, for it is life,
The reason she was born; to rises again,
unalterable, Unscathed

For I could no more stop my rambling lines
Than Arachnids their expanding threads!
And this was good


Just wondering, does anyone else feel this way?

 

[Tone]

Indeed...and now there are words to express!

 

[Joyous Song]

Yes, that was the story of my early life. Every member of my family condemned my gifts of writing and singing. It took almost a life time to realize their motives might not have been accurate and my love of writing far too strong to care weather people like what I wrote or even read it.

Maybe that comes with age, who knows but I wrote this in my twenties when those feeling were still very raw and the pain of early judgments still stung.