Tapestry

Tangled lines of thought
Ensnare my mind
In a haphazard tapestry.

Is this mangled knot of mind
An accidental random confusion
Of otherwise reasonable concerns?

Or does this gnarl
Of woven thoughts
Add beauty, texture or meaning
To some greater pattern
I do not see?

I am the weaver
Of this woven life-cloth
And yet I do not
Fully comprehend the pattern
Being done or even
The yarns being spun.

If I were blind
You would not find it odd
For me to seek description
Of what there is to see.

Would you not patiently,
Lovingly, caringly and
Openly offer your best
And truest description?

If you know
And truly understand
The cruelty of silent turning away
And the foul taste
Of inflated flattery,
Then the love of truth is yours.

We blind weavers
Seek the truth
From enlightened
Or sightless passersby.

How else are we
To see the difference?

Even the sting of mockery
Which was once like a dagger's edge
Is now more like a pesky insect bite.

If this be all my downside risk,
Then can't you understand
My eager openness?
The price of confusion and ignorance
Is far greater to me than this.

My tapestry of life
Is for display.
With your help
My best is what we will see.