The Tapestry

One of my old poems. fairly mediocre.

Our world is a quilted

Woven and wilted

Blanket tossed about the open sea,


And our dreams

Are unmended seams

Giving glimpses of the stuffings of reality.


The one who sewed

Our humble abode

Has dropped it but still works to find,


Before the end

Will he mend

The rips or will they further unbind?

The End

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