Pulling on
Threads of shadow
Picking my way along.
The sun rolls across
My frame,
Not even a notch upon the cosmic scale.
And yet,
I live,
I think.
I contemplate,
The role of Genius and Chance,
The futility of Battles,
Of Everything.
The scramble back and forth,
The rightness or wrong,
Where to stand,
The overarching theme,
Folly,
Disappointment … misplaced devotion …
The propensity for so many things …
I crave abstract, inexplicable, intricate forms
When all seems falsely uniform.
How easy it is to tire of simplicity and simple things,
The irony,
When clarity and answer elude,
And silence stands.
And no one speaks.
The past much closer than future near.
Faceless spirits pull upon my arms at great insistence and would have me turn back and live forever in that place.
How easy that would be.
Sorrow fills my head with her beautiful song and I cannot move, cannot go on.
Fear …
Uncertainty, stops my way,
A giant knot in a weaver’s loom.
Hitting upon the obstacle as a ship to rocks at the mercy of a violent storm.
The pattern …
- Is of a sage old witch’s devising
An artful plan of good and ill.
-Those dabblers of fate.
The threads of darkness, of shadow, coalesce into one.
Now Eidolon, my guide, beckons me, come.
Robyn Hunt (c) 2023
