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Archive for the ‘poems’ Category

No one saw the weavers
The makers of the golden shrouds
Designed for insularity
And woven for posterity

Theirs was a lovely secret
Kept in mirrors and the clouds
A culture based in couture
A foundation built of mortar

Their garments such a finery
And yet were worn by all
The crimson crest embroidered
In pockets no one saw

The fabric bore a fine sweet scent
The product of such sudor lent
A softness born of optic fears
Twice ripened over prudent years

No one saw the weavers
Toiling at their looms
No one saw the weavers
Not even in the tombs

A subtle wind teased,
northeast it came
down behind around me,

reticent and righteous, rife with
egalitarian flair,
withdrawing at its leisure as if playing with the air.

My senses took a notice, of its
continuous resurgence
as northeasterlies often do,

for the subtle winds that blow with
ease repeat their acts
elusively until you’re noticeably moved.