Turn them to stone

There is a very fine line between crazy and passionate.
I have built an acceptance of both.
Reality as a whole teeters that line.
A soul that strives to bring and share beauty,
Not getting hung up on the snags of life,
But evaluating them from the lessons they teach.
The keeper of time is not wasted on many, I value myself in completeness and complexity with love.
A force of nature, I weave the tapestries,  like a chameleon that changes its color to fit is mood.
The Web of silken thread spread in the sand,
Sitting on the rock and wailing to the ships that come into my shores but never are brave enough to stammer even a greeting of adornment.
No, they shall never touch this priestess in her glimmering mist.
Turn them to stone. For,  within the eyes and beneath the wake, hidden are the sorrows of the world, told between the lock and key.
So unintelligible the working drones that have fallen, with their only reward for their labor,  to breathe the air that surrounds and, suffocating, ushers them to their grave.

July 25, 2014