Tapestries

I looked at him with eyes that held a belief that had been fashioned at the very beginning of time, when creation first began to breathe. In transitory relapse, I stood alone, oblivious to the onlooking spectres that veered past this communion of the unborn. Perhaps wisdom had granted them a justice in their awareness of the abyss into which they were certain to fall. A path they had chose, connected, and in the thread to which we are bound.

The devil himself remained aloof to the ploy, amused by the wanderings of man and the subtleties through which they gave life unheld command. It was a road of the living to create. And that of the dead to bless, with bowed heads, in a light they struggled to weave.

Within already hung tapestries, folded lines ride through our tales as we filter within the layers of the untold. Let their work unfold for I am yet to be, unheard, as I lay tethered and sat upon the ground.