The Glass-Eyed Weaver and the Shadow-Eater
In a valley where gravity
drinks only upside-down,
She wakes, spinning thread
from fractured glass,
Kindling pale fires
that refuse to burn,
Her heart was a metronome
ticking in a vacuum.
She speaks in violet vowels,
Building bridges out of
forgotten whispers,
Holding the sun
inside a jar of moths,
Where nothing is
permitted to die.
He arrives on a wind
that tastes of iron,
A void dressed in velvet,
Swallowing the light
she mightily stitches,
His heart was a hollow flute
recreating in quietness.
He breathes out velvet nights,
Breaking bridges
with a touch of nostalgia,
Stalking the shadows
of her bright moths,
Where everything
is allowed to rot.
They meet at the intersection
of Nowhere and Ever,
She weaves him a coat
of crystal tears,
He dissolves it
into a cloak of ash.
She offers a rose,
blooming backward into dust,
He drinks the rot,
singing a lullaby of screaming,
Two opposites locked
in a dream that bleeds,
Never merging, never leaving,
One holding the flame,
the other the dark,
Binding the shattered
world together,
In a dark, loving, terrible art.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
