The Spirit's Thread
The Spirit’s Thread
Born into darkness, stark and cold,
nestled in the womb of the night.
Brought from the mother, hence made bold,
taught to be meek then led to fight.
It listens as the dawn calls to:
the space between two horizons.
When the moon’s veil is made anew
it finds the dew of sweet youth gone.
Long stolen from the face of stars,
the spirit sinks to the warm earth.
Wond’ring why it had come so far,
far from the cosmos of its birth.
Bound as the trees, it’s set in stone.
The leaves will fall, but give no shade.
In a torrent it cries alone
with its meaning so long forbade.
Now is the time the thread is cut.
The cleaving words strike to the bone.
Lessons of life, its peace does glut,
as the night fondly calls it home.
- Weavy ( oh snap!)
The space between two horizons...