Repetitive... I whisper
Into your ear I try.
Sweet words with no meaning
Are all we utter,
But they are irrelevant,
Because we don’t listen anyway.
Emotion... that grandiose idea
For the hopeless.
We try to obtain it,
But it slips through our fingers
Like the blood we spill
To reach it,
To hold it
Is all we want.
Love... hate
It all means nothing.
When we are together
They are not far from reach.
We wrap our minds
And our bodies,
To intertwine with emotion,
All in the physicality
Of the soul,
And the water vapor.
Corporeal...the things we feel
And yet we see nothing with our eyes.
Feeling our way through life,
Stimulated by sensory
That does not exist.
But yet we sense it,
That ever present
Non existent
Thing
Called love,
Often mistaken
And misleading in it’s course.
It weaves a broken tapestry,
With no design.
Life... death
All shown in this room.
This room of emotion,
A place of birth.
Where ideas are begun
And snuffed out like candles,
But no one misses them anyway.
So I sit all alone
With this needle in my hand,
Trying to weave
But I can’t hold still,
And I keep stabbing myself.
Blood...the proof of life
But what does it prove?
It shows nothing
But our faults
And all our misgivings.
But that’s all we are anyway.
A collection of pieces,
Scrambled
Disorderly.
We try to make the jigsaw work
And we end up with nothing
But a picture of a tree
And half of a face.
So we give up
And we leave our work
Unfinished.
Just like the world we live in.
Unraveled...is the state of the times
But we keep on weaving
Like our fathers before.
No matter how many stains
We leave upon the carpet.
No matter how many scars
Appear on our wrists.
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Submission Name: A Room Of Broken Tapestries
