|
| |
Unweaving the Silent Loom
the great unweaving
begins as dreams unravel
empires sleep guilded
lulled by their hollow splendor
blind to the moths in the weave
stone slowly crumbles
not in one thunderous fall
dropping piece by piece—
the keystone forgets its weight
the arch betrays its pillars
Where is the weaving?
Where have the threads gone?
The loom lies broken.
The emperor is bare.
crowds chant illusions
cheering the shimmer of silk
not woven by loom
nor hand-stitched into garments
the crowd wanted king to wear
corruption festers
when the powerful ingest
crowd praise as self-worth
with appeasement a banquet
served and eaten as divine
Who's to mend the weaving?
Who's to sew the threads?
The loom is still silent.
While spring waits ahead.
the breakdown follows
threads snapping like taut tendons
warp and weft collapse
history burns down to ash
toppled by incoming tide
the foreseen holds up
its mirror of shattered glass
for the crowd to see
each of their faces woven
into the emperor's shawl
there's the weaving gone
threads unpicked and torn apart
the loom lies silent
for us to stitch the same lies
into bare kings' threadbare cloak
Who's to mend the weaving?
Who's to sew the threads?
The loom's still silent.
While spring waits ahead.
Copyright ©
John Anderson
|
|