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The Tapestry Of Life


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I thought I'd put this here, since the version of it I have elsewhere broke due to site formats.




Before the shadow of the spire were begat, stare doth we into Time's cauldron and Terra's vat.

Lo, behold, shall thee, Gaia at her heavenly looms, spinneth doth she the fibers of her woeful craft in lofty spires and aetherial rooms.

So gently coiled are these, her threads to create a life vibrant, a mortal shell of wick and thread to define the soul of the world's trenchant.

Taut and wrought be this soul, be this one bless'd and whole, the fool's calf he be, destined be he to be damnation's earthen coal.


Crushed in ebon crucible, and yanked by Life's forceps truly, begin now doth the vibrant child his life, his breath in life unruly.

Wretched caitiff was he, thrown to the chains of man, and fettered are the winds he bloweth at men that would make nil his life's span.

Pariah rejected was he in the womb of Malice, sent to die, but crawleth doth that vibrant man through the mire of nightmare and lie.

And woeful works are not soon undone, for the vibrant man is condemned to toil in longsuffering beneath the deadly sun.


Unbroken and chained be that vibrant man in no era soon, thy crafts brought his body low and burned him by the fire of the reddened moon.

Unholy and wizened, in path confounded and unclear, was this man before the fires of Misery and Hate, his form unspun by twin doors' leer.

Ugly and rotten before the world of fire, was that vibrant man, whose onyx tears upon the ignorant life hath their course they would have ran.

Urchin, coiled around the pyre of f@&#!ts and ilex. for the years of his captors, would be under thumb of gravity under gaily spun man's hex.


Cough doth he, that broken vibrant man of woe, whose rainbow wings are shattered as glass in the mud, cries as he is brought low.

Lament doth he, that freedom taken, that he is cast in the metal mold of the world that hath upon which his body tongues of fire would awaken.

Nightshade curse upon his limbs, cast away for what thou shalt call sin, weep would any good child for the vibrant man thou hath stretched thin.

Pour thy lacriment out for this woeful confused beast, you angels who watcheth the Earth and her sins take the vibrant man's for their feast!


He shall be despised as he wears the robe of the rainbow skies, and he shall never be freedom of scorn and shame in his life of lies.

Though he was wrought of rainbow yarn, the Earth forbids his way, and crushed under their law of what he cannot do in manner free and gay.

Requiem composed for he, despise shall he his life, where nothing sacred would tear him apart from his madness born of his strife.

So weep for that broken vibrant man, that man who did no wrong, for he is wretched and despised, his life is not his and he does not belong.

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  • 5 months later...

I wish I had looked at this topic earlier but now that I have done so, I have come to appreciate its interesting use of language, of imagery. It reminds me something of poetry but also the works of Shakespeare. I look forward to reading more of your writings, KakeiTheWolf.

:yes: :thumbsup: :thumbsup: :thumbsup:

Edited by Maharg67
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