 
Beginnings
There is beauty, even in the ashes
and hope beneath the pain.
Endings are illusions:
what we see is change.
The threads of time weave patterns
that shimmer in the light.
Cut or broken filaments
re-weave beyond our sight.
Trapped inside the tapestry
we cannot see the loom,
the weavers never tell us
if they've left the room.
The colors that we make,
the shapes our dreams define,
are hidden from us slyly
in the overall design.
If we could see the fabric
and take the threads our way,
would the cloth be colored glory
or a human shade of gray?
Terri
Rolan© 1999
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page and its contents were designed by Magic
Interludes 2001
The author of this feature is Terri
Rolan© 1999
Please do not copy or use without permission.
"Dance
of the Kindred Spirits"
by Bruce DeBoer
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