My Journey

From mind to paper and back again.

The Weaver of Dreams

on July 9, 2010

The Weaver of Dreams


The invisible silks fly in and out of the looms,

Colours unseen from the outside

The pattern woven blindly by touch alone

The stories progression is self-contained

Only the loom knows the fine detail within


Every night when we drift the weavers begin

Working strands of magic at a fascinating speed

We know the pattern, its detail is ours alone

Today we went visiting and a memory was formed

A false memory where two are joined

One real, one fantasy, spurred on by our imagination


She is a blind mistress, Imagination.

Night after night she sits alone working

Weaving her magic as we doze silently

Colours change, people arrive and things to happen

The invisible threads flick through her fingers

We are enthralled and entrapped in a woven paradise of dreams.


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