A CYBERNET TAPESTRY
An on-line tapestry, more colorful than black could ever be,
From connected threads of warp and woof and vanity.
Of boxes and bridges, riversides too…fried eggs somewhere,
Phantoms on the wall…shadow talk, darkness…light also there.
Sun, Moon, and stars in the night cannot reveal
The python’s focused undaunting sight…
It's amazing the things that happen on the way to adulthood,
Collective "strands" that surpass our wildest dreams for good.
Riverbanks, riversides, and even river edges, (s)pools of thought,
Mind encounters form fantasies of woven treasures.
Old folks and young folks, daughters and sons,
Grand Dads and Grand Moms, and new babes on the run.
Fishing holes and marching bands, and fingers in the mud,
Flowered fields and Septembers, and shooting stars above.
Memories of pastel and lace,
Form part of our pattern in deep cyberspace.
Spoken in eternal rhyme, worlds long past, worlds ahead,
Our whispers softly form the prayers for our dead.
Dreams have come and gone of countless unseen faces,
Bring close-up awakenings at dawn’s early traces.
Like quicksilver are the glances and smiles of strangers’ faces,
Their elusive eyes mirror our soul, but never will embrace us.
Sometimes there is hurt in the knowing, other times, true joy,
We make plans to gather…the tapestry keeps on growing.
Echoes resound like sound bytes gone awry…doors keep on
Opening…jet trails forming smoke ring windows cross the sky.
Winds forever blowing upon the pages of our minds,
Like the blurs from drunken evenings…a page or two gets left behind.
Midnight choirs sing B. Neuwirt’s song, indeed,
And, in the magic of the moment, find us all the time we need.
"There is truth in there",…as Nantoo once said,
About Merasu’s "Walls", built to hide our pains and tears.
We search for "The Grail", our thirst to "Quench all",
>From a "conch shell", found in Kalnin’s hall.
Time is slow in passing…for those who mourn and grieve,
The demise of loved ones, shared tears upon a sleeve.
For empty chairs that are neatly clean, and celebrations,
Memories unforeseen, returned from the closet, dust covered bottles, no
deposit
There are times to leave, if there’s nothing left to say,
Its nice to believe in tapestries, whenever we’re away..
