Tapestry of Broken Threads
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Sometimes I wake, at least believing I have,
but find that I'm wandering about,
perhaps dreaming while walking in a mist,
through empty halls where moonlight
doesn't stream through windows on walls.
I'm alone in lush jungles of canopied forests,
and bathing in pools behind waterfalls.
It's a strange realm of a juxtaposing existence
where my words and thoughts mingle,
trying to blend like slow-running river currents,
flowing into roiling tides of ocean waves.
It's the place where lost love lingers
and grief echoes its mourning call
trying in vain to heal in silence
and sobs are stifled throes of sorrow
as their cries are only heard by me
as they ricochet through my mind's tunnels.
In my poetry these corridors exist—
these hollow spaces and empty places
I create in journeys between sadness and joy,
hope and heartbreak,
life and death
and where with each breath I take
holds gasping ghosts of lost loves
as they hover, unheard but felt in the ruins
of what once was a lamplit rendezvous lieu,
now withered and cold, a cavern of darkness.
There's stark sadness some would label madness
found in dreams that leave my body and soul
aching and craving to come awake.
Whether I wander in a blossoming garden
in these reveries, remembering candlelight nights
of passionate kisses within love's arms—
they're only a worn tapestry of broken threads
from the many textured fabrics of my life.
Some became tangled and some unraveled,
others frayed and were pulled apart
that had to be stitched in the wounded places
with a patchwork of bloodied cloths to cover
the scars that form crossroads across my heart.
More often the dreams that find me in slumber
now take me to happier places where smiling faces
surround me and ease the pains I've borne.
Though time in those spaces flows too quickly,
like grains of hourglass sands sifting and shifting
like dunes formed by errant Zepher winds.
Now, as I walk in the warmth of sunlight's rays,
erased are the hovering ghostly shadows.
From those ruins where life was lived, I'm drifting
past the perished caverns from my yesteryears.
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2025
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