Encircled by dainty petite waltzing flowers,
listening to their soft whispers to the bees
and butterflies, my summer days were ecstatic,
eyes felt alive with vibrant colours,
my heart felt vivacious with the sonata of nature.
It's time now to bid adieu to warm days,
with a spirited foliage of farewell, tiptoeing in
a veiled bride with crimson, magenta, amber…
whirling, swirling, twirling whimsical leaves
trees are decorated with, and some
sprawled creating a velvety tapestry
under the soon-to-be bare branches,
no less gorgeous than the glorious flowers
ravishingly stunning, and exquisitely opulent,
enchanting human senses, hearts and souls
erasing their bleakness and melancholy.
O fall, let this poignant lore of love wrap my imagination
forever with a faint aura of sublime feelings,
I glide through the season with an ethereal sensation,
My existence transcends into a rare celestial experience.
I am a woven tapestry every color of thread defines my life
First comes Serenity, born of sunlit air,
From Latin's serenus, meaning clear and fair.
It is the soul's untroubled, cloudless sky,
Where storms of passion pass and gently die.
It is not born of circumstance or place,
But from a deep and internal state of grace,
An inner sanctum, where the spirit thrives,
And in acceptance, finds the peace it strives
To know. Serenity's a quiet art,
A settled calm within a trusting heart,
That even when the world is filled with strife,
Remains a constant, steady flame of life.
It is the core of stillness, deep and wide,
The tranquil center where our truths reside.
Title: Tapestry of Time.
Poem:
In dawns embrace, where shadows softly play, the world awakens, dreams of night decay. Each moment born, a thread of fate entwined, our stories woven in the loom of time.
Time the artist. Paints with strokes of light. In hues of joy and sorrows gentle night. We dance beneath the suns resplendent glow, chasing warmth as fleeing moments flow. Yet as it sets, a bittersweet refrain, reminds us all that joy is laced with pain.
Beneath the stars, we ponder paths untraced, in silence, we confront what time has faced. Each whisper of the wind, a tale untold, a reminder that our lives are threads of gold.
What of the dreams we dare to chase in vain? The roads not taken, the lingering pain. Yet in our quest, we find a fragile grace, in every heartbeat, in each sacred space. For time may be fleeting, but love endures. A bond that transcends, forever assures.
So let us dance in the moons soft glow, in the tapestry of time, let our spirits flow.
Poet: Tanja taylor
(“Tapestry”, 2025, original encaustic)
I like the stories I tell myself about myself.
As cliche’ as it sounds,
They are the story of my life,
But yet, not the actual life.
They are instead the mythology of a life
Of actual moments
Woven from birth by family, friends, and self.
Firstly as a warm, soft, comforting blanket
Then as a home secure and sound
Finally as a world vibrant and vast
Giving us everything we need,
A psycho-spiritual whole to contain
And explain it all.
At some point though we reach the limit
Of our story, our hopes and fears,
As vast as they may eventually grow to be,
And the crack in our cosmic egg
Reveals something completely different
Beyond us, beyond our world and story.
Of course we just add this to our story
But it will never really be the same.
Once the truth is seen
The lie can never fully be unseen.
But lie is a harsh term
For the comforting half truths a child needs
As it prepares to know Life
Outside a blanket, or home, or even world,
A life that weaves and leaves stories in its wake,
Of Self as friend, lover and mate
Or trickster, seducer, adversary and foe,
But as the creator
Always something more.
(12/4/25)
In the silence of the night, when shadows weave their tapestry of lost dreams,
Abyssal mirrors gaze at us from the depths with silent eyes,
Souls dance on spider threads woven from time,
Bearing the heavy burden of the world, in webs of paradoxes, unstretched.
Beneath our steps, the ground trembles, a sea of hidden darkness,
An infernal abyss silently lurks beneath the fragile veil of existence,
We lose ourselves in the labyrinth of thoughts, where light and shadow embrace,
In a waltz of fate, where silence sings unheard melodies.
Each breath becomes an echo of eternity trapped in moments,
We gaze at the horizon and see how the sky breaks into thousands of paradoxes,
In the depths of the soul, we bear the burden of an endless universe,
Where magic and melancholy dance their eternal, uninterrupted waltz.
Through the mist of dreams, we find ourselves in the abyss that engulfs us with longing,
And understand that we are but fleeting shadows on the stage of infinity,
Through the cosmic silence, we feel how time melts into eternity,
And we, travelers through the night, lose and find ourselves in forgotten light.
The trees are bare of summer green,
now the landscape paints a winter scene.
Each thread hums —
drawn by patient hands,
dyed in storms and thaw.
The base is pale as morning frost,
fibers holding winter’s quiet breath.
Across it, ribbons of shifting hues
wind like rivers —
green bending to blue,
violet bruised into pink.
At the center, twin knots gleam —
changing under every flicker of light,
tidal glass or meadowstone,
never the same twice.
Edges fray softly,
not from neglect
but from touch repeated, cherished.
The whole cloth sways with a living pulse —
a work forever becoming,
never complete.
Sure, enough; they'll be leaving.
One by one, by one by one.
Leaving a steady stream of grief.
Leaving pinprick holes in the heart.
The tapestry of the soul.
These infinite waves of grief have no mercy for a thinning beach.
One day soon enough it'll be my turn.
To leave behind this timeless stream...
I pray the foundation is restored
the tapestry replenished.
Oh, to grow old with you, if such a thing
could be: a dream, a wish, a fantasy
that keeps invading day and night and all
the minutes in-between with words that sing
and weave the interlocking tapestry
of hope begun and hope denied; darkfall~
within the blackest night it hides beyond
rigid boundaries of insanity,
and still I wait to hear the heart's true call
of wondrous hope writ large by wayward wand's
cabal.
Imagine an alternate universe, one born in the reverse rhythm of our own Big Bang.
In this cosmos, the arrow of time flows backward, not as a regression but as an elegant symmetry, a dance of retreating possibilities.
Galaxies do not expand into the void but instead coalesce, condensing into radiant singularities, the luminous echoes of futures we can never reach.
Here, light emerges only to fold inward, its journey truncated before it graces the expanse.
It is a universe hidden from us not by distance alone, but by the very nature of its existence—its glow always arriving too late, its truths eternally just beyond our grasp.
Yet, even unseen, such a realm invites awe.
It suggests that reality is not a single thread but a cosmic loom, weaving countless tapestries in both directions of time.
It is a humbling thought, a reminder that the cosmos, vast and intricate, may hold infinities we can sense only in the whispers of our dim imagination.
In the depths of dreams, our story weaves like a tapestry of stars,
She looks at me, and I feel myself melting like a glacier under the scorching August sun,
Her laughter is an echo of bells in the air, filling my chest with a symphony of sweet pain,
She reveals the hidden realms of her soul to me, like an atlas of unexplored mysteries,
Her passions and fears flow toward me like a river of light, intertwined with crystal tears,
We embrace, and I feel her warmth envelop me, like the flames of a campfire defying the autumn chill,
Her lips meet mine, and the taste of her kiss remains like a memory etched on the parchment of memory,
We desire each other like two planets orbiting in a dancing trajectory of longing,
Never has there been a greater reward than the journey through our personal hell,
Hand in hand, soul to soul, laughing in the face of fate that once whispered she would no longer want me,
But she does, and I want her, all of her, as if the entire universe was created for us,
After all this, nothing has changed, our story flows like an eternal river,
Intertwining our desires and dreams in an endless dance, losing and finding ourselves in the eternity of an "us."
The moon nestles within a celestial quilt,
as the sun sleepily peeks through the indigo sky.
Chartreuse canopies sway against a mid-autumn sunrise.
Mahogany leaves, scattered upon frost-tipped, ombré blades of grass,
crackle under the patter of the feet of does.
Canadian geese flock, gliding toward home.
The inaugural snowflakes of winter flutter on teal breezes.
Inhaling the crisp morning air, it melts on cherry lips.
Warmth from the sun's silhouette dances playfully on curious hands.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee wraps you in comfort,
Whilst a monarch butterfly rests on the last dandelion fiercely holding on.
As the threads of autumn gingerly unravel,
they reweave into winter's aquamarine tapestry,
the transition of seasons bringing forth a time of peaceful reflection.
Vince says I'm intelligent, creative, and quirky.
I am all those things,
as these are features of all people,
as well as all animals,
and plants.
Look!
I belong
and am a special part of
this beautiful tapestry,
and have the opportunity
to live harmoniously within it,
and shine!
Like all life, I have, not imperfections, but quirks,
and like Vince, on most days, I am kind.
A winsome weave, simple and real,
Warp and weft; a tight twill,
A weaverbird’s nest, strong and snug,
With soft crossways and tumphy tug.
Subtle cozy patterns, seldom revealed,
Cynical twists like waves unsealed,
The mirror of peafowl’s courtship field.
Matchless display by the peacock,
Dance elevated by love, rattle of feathers in rhythmic clock,
Enticing and dazing the hens, with a silent poise,
All while rivals raise their voice.
Waking incredible train rattle, a sharper dance,
Initial plumage grandeur, a healthier glance,
Peahens’ basics caught in a stance.
Beautifully woven, a rhythmic tapestry,
Wales ranged in a rolling plain spree,
Richly captivating...lines of love,
Crowned with bliss by the brave thereof.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.