The Quilt

July 21, 2013
I take in my hand
A needle and thread,
To make for myself
A quilt for my bed.

I think a bit, then,
With a pause, I start.
Making with purpose,
My feelings, each part.

The first thread, Malice,
So violet red.
And next is the sadness,
The sorrow, the dread.

Sewing of death
The colors all dark,
the needle of feeling
leaving its mark.

The reds, the purples,
Embroiderèd pain.
The sorrows, the hatred;
Life's lethal bane.

I look the quilt over,
Most of it blood red,
And the finishing touch,
A tear from my head.

I stare for an hour,
My feelings so dire,
And then take a match,
And set it on fire.
I start a new quilt
With a new perspective,
And into THIS quilt,
My heart do I give.

With needle in hand,
Sky blue is the start--
For the peace that I feel--
The peace in my heart.

Then memories sweet,
A bright golden sun.
The greens and yellows
For all family fun.

I smile as the feelings
And thoughts pour away;
Act on my heart, and
In this quilt portray.

My fingering slows;
hands come to a stop.
And now, of pure joy,
Tears from my cheeks drop.

I look to the ashes
Of quilt number one.
And smile, for those feelings
Are now, dead and gone.

I look back at my quilt-
Each and every part.
And see, this is me.
THIS quilt,
Is my heart.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback