Loom of weavers, weaving lies,

Hiding truth from lonely eyes,

As belief in others slowly dies,

For honesty and trust, he cries.

Loom that does our dreams weave,

To faith and hope, we wish to cleave,

Yet, our hearts can do naught but grieve,

We’re trapped in nightmares that never leave.

Loom weaving illusion of hate,

Will this vision never dissipate?

The path is inescapably straight,

Trapped inside this realm called fate.

Loom weaving our trodden path,

Pull our strings and face our wrath,

We’ll leave you in the aftermath,

With naught but an epitaph.

Loom, a story you do tell,

Trapped inside a darkened cell,

In the shadows, you do dwell,

Drowning in a pain-filled well.

Loom weaving row by row,

Our destiny you claim to know,

We shall move against the flow,

Swinging the sword in final blow.


The End

1 comment about this poem Feed