i feel it
standing behind me
the spectre of that old man
shaped like my father
on the outside
on the inside
with a shadow
neither long nor dark
no chills race up my spine
but there is that whisper
you too
you too
Tag: fate
Poem 20151129
weaving
the shuttle moves and clacks
all the strands are the same color
save one
a single red thread
a thick as a threat
dark as blood
never pumped by human heart
the weaver
swears there is a pattern
though the skeins
seem all the same
colorless as dun
against the heath
the hands move
the threads move
save one
that wraps around stars
that wraps around us
Words and Feathers 