Tapestries
by K. Taylor, Copyright 1982 USA
Each word we speak, each move we make
are threads we weave, each day, into the tapestry we take
when we go on from here someday.
And when we take it out again, to see what we’ve begun,
it’s where the colors now are fading, or the stitches come undone
that we’ve added to the truth, or told a lie.
For every heart we’ve broken, there’s a dark and ugly stain.
Where promises were spoken but, now only words remain,
there’s a flaw within the weaving, or a hole that can’t be patched.
For every time we’ve fooled ourselves, the colors didn’t match.
Our tapestries are pictures of a thousand lifetimes spent,
Yet we weave them with as many words we never really meant.
are threads we weave, each day, into the tapestry we take
when we go on from here someday.
And when we take it out again, to see what we’ve begun,
it’s where the colors now are fading, or the stitches come undone
that we’ve added to the truth, or told a lie.
For every heart we’ve broken, there’s a dark and ugly stain.
Where promises were spoken but, now only words remain,
there’s a flaw within the weaving, or a hole that can’t be patched.
For every time we’ve fooled ourselves, the colors didn’t match.
Our tapestries are pictures of a thousand lifetimes spent,
Yet we weave them with as many words we never really meant.
