Monday, May 14, 2012

Revision 3


So that’s that…
The end of the fabric-
the threads run out
The garment created,
unraveling….

The  foundations-
of our worlds collide
in the silence of space.
No words:
without waves,
or a thread
of  respect, or even honor,
for the ending  hem.

Just  the rip in a torn tea towel
traveling to the rag bag…

And in that silence is anger.
Our anger…
Strips we tear
at what was done, perceived, or executed.



The stubborn refusal
to acknowledge
our cowardice,
Hooked in a crochet
Of frozen intentions.
 
We are a paralyzed braid,
quadriplegic in our emotions,
stitched oval
in a spiral
of your moment,
and me in my recovery…

My foundation,
where the The Natural Law
Is in the woof and weave:
trees woven in sky,
rivers in seams,
and stars embellish
the pockets,
front and back.



The idols we make
 sit toad- like on  shelves,
grinning ineptly at blank walls.

They become

 dust –
                        silent…




What gods would be silent?

Not the one God-
He roars in every thread of creation.

He knows His  creation-
It is His design…


It is not natural
or organic
to submerge, bury,
nullify,

who we are in our restoration.
God would have us human again
So we could do His purpose.

Complementarity.

Woven together in mutual respect and love.

The Art in His Creation.
No longer in violation
of the rhythm
and purpose
of the Natural Order of things.
























and I still love you wildly , madly, and passionately ....


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