midnight settles over unbroken plain,
crickets stitch faint threads of sound,
stars embrace the silence
I borrowed an ancient and beautiful name,
To bury my grief in another’s old shame.
For they were promised a dawn to arrive,
While I had to learn how to bleed and survive.
A golden swan carried their love through the skies,
And she chose her true king through the gods in disguise.
A dark game of dice stripped his crown and his land,
And he fled in the forest, letting go of her hand.
Yet a clever second gathering called him from afar,
And love pierced the shadow to find where they were.
This is the story you often heard;
You may know the ending sweetly catered.
Let me tell you the story of mine,
A bitter tale that grief to define.
Damayanti was far too tired to trace
The fading prints of Nala's face.
There was no second swayamvara to rise,
No Damayanti to pierce his disguise.
No chariot returned, no forgiveness was spoken,
Some threads are not tied once the fabric is broken.
The gods didn’t weep, and the world didn’t pause;
We simply became who we never once was.
They are all so very loud
so angry and so aggressive
very frustrated and unwell
For the deep pain they caused
the endless despair, the betrayals...
That's why they're all deep in h*ll
H*ll is not what Christians think
It is ultimately a state of mind
they are conditioned to dwell
So many of them like judging others
only to wonder why I tune them out
despite having many stories to tell.
The pattern maker measures his guest
neck, shoulders chest, and breast,
arms, back, wrist, waist, hips,
pivots for darts on a block bodice
drafts designer dupe requested
a choice rose-beige mini is invested
on paper made of parchment
a muslin fabric fit first garment
The dressmaker sews the formal
zig zags seam ends, snips as normal
finishing floral, attaching appliques,
the courtier knock off is complete
I get out the chips and merlot
It’s time for the fashion show
Hope appears when hate provides;
Our positive vibes will turn the tides.
Like our spools of strong red threads;
Wondrous ideas unite sacred friends.
The Threads of my being
Are becoming unraveled
As whom “I Was” is only seen in the shadows and patches
I am losing myself but finding myself at the same time.
The threads are unraveling the “sweater” of my being
It is being rolled up in a ball of wool, like so many threads of life, cocooned
Until a new garment is made from the old.
What is this garment
that my mind and my being are weaving?
It is a garment that reaches back in time,
even as it becomes invisible in the present.
This garment is my shield
As I become ever increasingly vulnerable
But never increasing deep
Deeper than I’ve ever been.
It is not about a “meaning of life” journey
It is not Nirvana or Valhalla
It is not an enlightened moment
It is melding in a new way of doing things
Finding new ways of learning and retaining memory.
Even poetry becomes therapeutic
As my garment takes shape
And covers my nakedness.
Threads of life, weave us together, making us one in moments in time.
Threads are like waves, they move together, they blend, they make a wonderful life.
Life is full of moments, filling us with many types of memories, they are connected to our life, they fill us with sweet delight.
Threads of childhood fill our mind, they can come back and make us smile anytime.
Threads of our loved ones make us feel special, they make life filled with a sweet sensation.
Threads of love run through our life, we are blessed for all that love us.
Threads of times that were bad, we try to forget and leave in a box in our mind that we never want to remember.
Threads of times, that were unsure, we are thankful for all the moments we continued on.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Long ago, before matter
And the thought of man
Strands of eternal white light
Began to flow through sacred plan
Schemes of life forms to control
Took shape on higher planes
But those threads, experienced
And recorded every loss in perfect gains
As with all things temporal
Civilizations rose high and fell deep
Wars of rage grew strong and great
With the constant reality that nothing keeps
Every power grab met authority's claim
AWOL soldiers running through space and time
Hands clenched tightly around the necks
Of those who believe "right to rule," divine
Ah, yes, but LOVE has flipped the script
The tapestry on the back reveals spirit speak
Famous paintings in houses of the elite
Seem to roar the contracts where blood leaks
Written by Trudy Schrader on 03-05-2026
They place their storms in my shaky hands
stitched,tied and yet useful
Broken is I.
And for a while even the moon dims
no stitch is ever tied enough;
the loose threads forever stay
The Maple tree has gone,
the storm broke it,
then it was chopped to pieces.
For decades it stood
as a gold-leafed palace that graced
our commonplace cull-de-sac,
now it has been carried away
upon overladen truck-beds.
Late in this graying October
a few curling leaves linger
around its bosky stump.
A burnished copper, a tawny russet,
and a powdering of old gold
have leached out
from its deep-set roots.
A slow pyre of Fall colors
has emerged there
where no fire flickers.
yet it forms a last memorial
autumnal wreath.
Gradually, teacups of illumination
seep from a darkening horizon,
a sinking light now rakes only mist,
yet occasionally at sunset,
a maple palace for a moment shimmers,
a gold glittering
to greet our colorless eyes.
Staring at stars in the night,
Filling my sight with delight,
I wonder why they shine so bright,
Lighting up my brain,
We're connecting once again,
On an Astral plane,
Training my attention,
In the intended direction,
Focusing on the reflection,
This projection from my eyes,
Builds this disguise,
Skies are full of surprises,
As the emotions rise,
The moon cries tears of joy,
Deploying its secrets,
In a way most forget,
Another target set,
Yet to be discovered,
Uncovered by the mind,
Defined into a point in time,
Designed, Refined,
The line I created,
Life reinstated,
The old memories have faded,
As a new day lies ahead,
A new experience to tread,
Traveling a thread of stars,
Each one,
Another piece of who you are.
Seeds once sown, sustained
Essence of life to the fore
Puppets on their strings
WOVEN IN THREADS OF LOVE’S FORGIVENESS
Time-tested love, bruised and battered,
Lay like littered crystals, sprawled out
Over the steel-plated stage of life—
Dismembered and crumbled—
Like stale cookies, whose particles have lost
Their electromagnetic-like attractiveness:-
Ingredients of envious spices,
Try to inhibit any and all adhesiveness,
That tough, threading love has kneaded:-
However, seaming forgiveness, knits
And weaves supreme love together:
Cocooning new soaring beginnings.
Indeed, the most fragile butterfly wings—
Soaring in monarch majesty—have conquered
Time-tested winds of trials and tribulations:-
Yes, “...to err is human…and to forgive, divine.”
May the weaving threads of supreme love, forever
Twine and bind, these blessed hearts of yours and mine:-
Love threads through life, we can imagine them with our feelings in life.
Feelings are unseen, but felt with our inner self, they give us special feelings that only we can feel.
Like a magic power, that only we feel, it lets us know that it is good, that we feel it’s the right move.
Love threads to our loved one, we can feel them like energy, like the spark in life.
It only takes one spark to light the flame, that endures through forever in our heart.
Love threads are like the energy connection to our loved one, they give us an excitement that only true love can.
True love has love threads, that let them feel love all flowing through time, making them float in rhyme and time.
Love threads to love, is like a special power force that lives forever in time, it moves and endures forever in our heart and mind.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
The dawn breaks slowly over mountains of gold,
Its light a promise that stories unfold.
Your eyes, twin flames in the morning mist,
Guide the wanderer whose heart has been cold.
Though distance divides and years part,
Love's thread remains, strong and bold.
Through all the seasons,
I carry your spirit,timelessly told.
And in my final breath,I whisper your name,
Pheko,Bother Of Solly
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.