my soul I said weeping, we are tensile.
we are threaded with gold
someone has raveled us.
that hates moonlight
that halves the waves on the shore
then quarters them
smaller and smaller
plotting to diffuse.
and to deny.
knowing Whom we adore oh my soul
we will only bleed light
and the flowers of light
on the dimming tides are vivid.
when have we calculated
the effect of words on the populace
and schemed and called it dreaming?
my soul. be bright.
rework your broken threads again.
mary angela douglas 8 april 2016