Weave...to construct.

list it as one of many things

things I cannot understand

there are mysteries, fables

tales of fantasy and lore

there are illusions

 great and small

and many tendrilled stems

that create visions beyond belief

there are stories

ream after ream of verse

there are paragraphs and chapters

printed and bound to be told

the effort put forth

to create a tale

I know from experience

to be a labor that runs deep

I know what it takes

to lie words on a page

string them together

into tangible pieces of thought

I know the feeling

of taking those words in

in soft quiet moments

in places of private repose

to digest words is to feed

a hunger that cannot be quenched

to fill an aching hollow

with something substantial and pure

to dwell on imagination

to linger one letter at a time

is to fully fill the soul

with treasures rich and rare

words are the church I pray at

with innocence and trust

creation so revered

a true benevolent gift

~

I weave through the tangled threads

in the web that sticks to my skin

I find myself trapped in this maze

the deeper I go in this tale

my movements become restricted

are you watching the caught prey

it’s the only reason I can imagine

that you wasted such time on this tale