Ends begin to web
as weave tends the mends of man
Till the hold of mold is set
so not to let the spill
not to let the spill
Now feeds the fate
of late there seems to be no beat
and yet a pulse remains
This fashion plate of parts unfolds
to air it holds both now and then
and back to mend its may
For day dropped more than due
to wet the will
that twisted
till it sprung like spring
coiled as if for strike
all the while within there runs both cold and hot
or not
connections loose their wear
and tear from where it all began
as ends begin to web
to weave what is the now
Author notes
Link to the picture the poem was written for.
http://www.renderosity.com/mod/gallery/index.php?image_id=1528043
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This is a real good write. It is wonderfully written. wow I like that hold the mold LOLOLOLOLOL It was a pleasure to read.
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