Ive been cut down to my seams
The pain was far worse than it seems
Some people seem to spend their day sharpening their blades
And some people stare at their seams till their vision fades
They Mark every Thread
Because if they couldn't, they'd rather be dead
Im the latter, and Ive known too many former
its like their blades sharpen with every corner
But something strange happens when you've been cut enough, Ive found
The Threads that are left? Their roots form the ground
And as you find the will to stand
slowly planting your feet, making sure its not just sand
A question comes drifting in
It floats like a feather, but lands like a prison
And when you finally see it, you question your vision
Its clear as day
It couldn't have gone any other way
All the cuts, all the pain
They have laid it out plain
Would I have found these threads on my own?
Or did all those blades help me to see, whats left isn't thread. Its Stone.
"Holey all over,
seen better days,
worn out and threadbare,
can't mend its ways,
with drink spills, food stains,
rips, rents and tears,
not worth keeping,
a sad state of affairs,
its time has come,
over and done,
that's one bad habit,”
so said the nun.
I was kind enough
To put your shirt
In the drawer next to my bed
But I wish
I had the strength
To leave it on the floor instead
I want it to collect dust
But then that means
The last few months didn’t matter
Maybe I should just wear it
To cover up making
My heart shatter
Then you
Would see pictures
And think I still care
Which I don’t
Want you to know
So I’ll keep you unaware
What if I just put it
On the other side
Of the bed?
I won’t hold it
Like I usually do
But your cologne is still in my head
I’ll fold it again
And put it back in the drawer
With it cracked
I’ll sleep on the other side
Until the thought of you
No longer makes my heart react
thin moon hangs in the blurring light
when the red tape of work ends
day's end
before darkness darts onto idling pillows
a too slight shine to navigate the strain of living
wounds unstitched
like a heart unhealing from over-crowded transgressions
a feel that's too familiar
nestled in the treads of tired
where we can't always control the skidding
crescent moon
dangling, unsettled in the sky
shrunk in a sparseness of graying
pinched edges from a light threadbare
unable to lift toil from labor's bones
haggling for some salvation
“Your mother’s love, the silent devotion ,the never heard prayers, the unseen care.” ~~ Shobhna Kanwar~~
She stood in the foyer of the church, through the window to the aisle.
Her threadbare clothes hung around her form in denial.
She watched him take her arm, as they approached the groom.
A hush was heard as the organ played in the room.
How stunning the bridesmaids, four beautiful girls,
The bride exquisite, her delicate lace gown studded with pearls.
The crowd were obviously all well to do,
Men in Versace suits, women clad in Channel and Dior too.
She listened as they said their vows and swore to be true.
She smiled as he proclaimed to his bride “I love you”.
Marriage complete, they would all soon walk out to the street.
It was time for the hagged woman to make a hasty retreat.
He glanced at her but didn’t raise an eyebrow.
She would never be recognized the way she looked now.
It was so long since she had cried, she shed just one tear.
Her dear daughter would never know that her mother was here.
The light by which everything else is known,
is what we seek, to become self-aware
and so we sow seeds of love, all home grown,
that the tree of life reveals truth threadbare.
Love is a mist in which ego dissolves,
paving way for consciousness to expand,
whence we see how soul in our heart evolves
and then God’s divine plan we understand.
As heart lotus blossoms in body prism,
Holy Spirit begins to pervade form
and thus transcending teachings of each ism,
we’re engulfed in a magnetic bliss storm.
Questions cease when we become the answer,
gliding with grace, like a cosmic dancer.
Moon
came out
dressed only
in threadbare clouds
Sun spun her a gown
of seawater
embroidered
with green
glass
Threadbare memories from my past
like worn out souvenirs,
packed away with dreams recast
and thoughts of yesteryear.
Tear-stained photos caked with dust
and ghosts of long ago;
stowed away and ne’er discussed,
yet will not e’er let go.
Are these daydreams all for naught
within my mind amassed?
Haunting now are threadbare thoughts,
these memories from my past.
November 8, 2021
A Collection of Days
David J Walker
It looks for all to me like
The same sky
Passing by
As I wake to greet
Each new dawn
And the midday grass is
As green and fresh
as any shaggy lawn
I ever mowed for money
As a boy
Every summer day
Every leaf that fell in Fall
Ever winter snowdrift or
Spring rain
Feels and looks and smells
The same as when
I first arrived
All those years ago
So
What has changed
What has slowed and
Rearranged the
Ebb and flow of life
I am sure this is the
Same day continuing on
As when it first begun
Oh yes,
There are new songs
To be sung
New lives and things
to learn to love
New clothes to wear
As the old fade and grow threadbare
But tell me it’s a Monday
Or Tuesday and how,
Other than timebound
Obligation, it is any different
than that springtime Sunday
we walk in the park with the
realization that
The sun is setting and
Soon it will be dark
And when the darkness comes
I will have banked
A collection of the days
Of my life
As if all in one timeframe
Filed under my name
can a threadbare rope
hold the balance of justice
from crushing our hope?
what's the cost in gold
to decide any man's fate
when it's bought and sold?
heaven is the place
where a man is judged simply
by his sacred face!
How and Why??
With whom and where..
Amidst innocent cries
and tearful eyes,
HUMANITY ONCE AGAIN...
THREADBARE...
Don't let the pain fade this time
Don't let politics and religion play
Zero tolerance is the demand now
A new promise, a fresh vow..
Slogans and protests no more in vain.
Days passed, Oh! Sadly I hear,
Thank God, it is not someone Dear..
And see HUMANITY ONCE AGAIN
WENT DOWN THE DRAIN...
Gray smeared sky like a quilt of rags
Winos sip rot gut from brown paper bags
Threadbare cloud crotch splits up the side
Rain pours down, you got nowhere to hide
Cheap umbrella from a street corner pimp
Turns inside out before going limp
Putrid puddles, soggy doggy doo dollops
Are artfully dodged by high-heeled trollops
A rat scurries by with a piece of bread
Like the ant that totes a leaf on its head
You too once held big dreams in your grasp
But they got drowned with a gurgling gasp
You told me before, no you don't stutter
Your genius ideas got washed down the gutter
Now like a scavenger after a flood
You salvage what's left from out of the mud
Ashes to crashes, lust to rust
In the end it only goes bust
Caught in between the future and past
You start out just fine but finish dead last
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Jan 23, 2016
a slight feeling of ambivalence,
the merest hint of cold indifference
crushes all the confidence
that's in a threadbare heart
take care, take time, show tenderness,
each simple smile's a rich indulgence
that costs but a moment of patience
and restores a threadbare heart
Wear
thy breast
thin, now rest
thy cheeks rosy
upon my armored chest
smashing the headboard, tea cozy
Now we play ring around the rosary
In me embedded, stroking silk strands of my hair
Thoughts growing so hazy, day dream dozy
Your fiery eyes keep me toasty
now roaming kisses quest
our lips mosey
mounting crest
Last test
Bare
----------
This is a Diatelle.
the delicate fabric rends
once intricately meshed
carefully woven together by loving hands
beautifully it hangs
the cloth, pleasing to the eye
colorful hues in a fashionable design
underneath--tattered and shredding
worn from friction and resistance
strings now falling on the ground
the delicate fabric rends
once intricately woven
carefully meshed together by loving hands
now frayed and flawed....threadbare
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