The Tapestry
In and out the darkened thread of sorrow weaves
through golden threads of all those memories.
It, with each passing touch bereaves
every strand of thought, of hope, of dreams.
How darkʼs become entangled and entwined
with all the yellow-golds, reds and violets,
tainting with deep sorrow all the past sublime,
each thread fading in then out with time.
Ah, to be stretched out taught upon a loom
amid only brightest splays of color…
Undiminished by suffering's'painful gloom…
To bask in vibrancy of sunlit hues
But when the final tapestry hangs upon the wall,
golds have metamorphosed among the varied threads.
Emerging is a picture, brightening up the hall,
without whose bitter threads, weʼd never see at all…
A picture of Loveʼs golden Sun with the morn arising,
behind those stormy clouds on the far horizon