He watched the two women, enraptured,
the boy with his long legsstretched out beneath the table
How they looked at each other
saying a host of silent things –
how they talked
about distance
about youth
landscapes and death
solitude, and the passing of time
the happiness of being together
and the relentless struggles of living -
how they talked
without uttering a single word
The old one, with her lined face
evoking little blades of roadside grass
wild violets
forget-me-nots
buttercups and primroses -
a soft, gentle mouse-face
open and luminous
fine, like Japanese paper
the vestige of sorrow disappearing
behind the rising of tea vapour
giving way to a thousand tiny kindnesses
at the corners of her faded eyes
So graceful, this young thing
so calm and elegant
in her vagabond’s trappings –shorn hair and paint-stained fingers
unlike the other girls,
more the breath of an angel,
with her heavy bricklayer’s boots
that keep her anchoreddown here among the rest of us
He watched, the boy,
with quiet wonder…
The Weaving of Lives
©crisstiena
Author notes
Border image: 'Drifting' by TaravPinettevKazmaier
Life is a tapestry: We are the warp, angels, the weft. Only the weaver sees the whole design. But who is the weaver?
In a list
A contest entry
- Weaver II by james119.
600 points, ended September 30, 2008, 7 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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“There was a boy...
A very strange enchanted boy.
They say he wandered very far, very far
Over land and sea,
A little shy and sad of eye
But very wise was he.”
--Eden Ahbez
We fall between the warp and woof
Passing through holes in the fabric of life
Kaleidoscopic colours
Blending and bleeding
Dyeing and dying
Satisfied in the knowledge
That at least we lived…
Lovely poem, by the way. Reminded me of Chocolat for some reason. Congrats on the trophy!
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Start to finish, it's a lovely work. One is drawn in at the first line and finds himself in the boy's place, wondering at people around him.
Thanks for entering -
sprayed on - layers at a time...
yes, who is the weaver? who do we believe in? we all believe in something/someone... this is yet another intriguing entry along the guide wire - no pole, just those funny shoes that look more painful than anything else...
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Such magnificent texture to this piece, my Friend.
Such incredibly tender descriptions, so delicate, so intricate.
Completely beautiful, as is the Scribe that penned this wonder, willingly sharing it with us all.
Thank you.
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Loved what isn't said. Gentle threads used here.
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it has been ages that I have read on here, and how pleased I am to have chosen this. Thought was ignited to the deeper meaning of it and life. Who is the weaver? Maybe we all are a bit before all is said and done. In this case however it was you my friend...weaving your own threads into the tapestry [interpretation of what we observe is weaving as well] for we all have a different one. Loved it, great job!!!!!
much love
reenie
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