Dream Weaver

Dream Weaver The weaver sits before the threshold of the daystar Upon a carpet dyed in ebony spread across an alabaster porch, Hidden by a cape of ivory shimmers, In between twilight’s caress and the palest blush of dawn, To gather from the floor of slumber’s tent, and far pavilions, Starlight threads of lacy midnight raptures And cobwebs mystery floating through deep scars of laughter Before the matins glowing door calls sleepers come away From silent symphonies of solitude Or whispering shivers of echoes returning To scatter remnants of midnight dances When the weaver’s hand swiftly guides the flying shuttle To bind the fragile luminescent strands - Silver silent tears next to mornings’ strong resolve, New hope in borning green, White hot strands - convictions passion - Bound forever next to nightmares, braided chords of shimmery, Dark secrets spoken only in between chords of sunlit days Rosy remembrance woven overall With light speed pushing warp and woof pulling tangled dreams apart Forever woven into midnight’s mantle of translucent silken patterns Worn closest to the spirit’s metaphor, Light as cloud ships on a summer wind song Bold and strong as visionary glimpses of eternity, In flowing rhythms and textures irony emerging Worn upon the mantle’s visage, A maze of multi-colored hues scattered through the cloth - A pattern of the mystic scheme – A portrait of the soul emerging From the weaver waiting at the threshold Of the silver dawning sunset, reflections faithful servant, Eternal guardian of the misty portico Where the weary pilgrim passes on the twilight breezes Welcomed as a child bringing home garlands woven in the sunlight, Wreaths of memory crowning time, Carrying in their hands brilliant threads to bind - To rest again in the lullaby of stillness While the weaver listens to the humming Of sweet slumber’s singing loom To weave a cloth of dreams.