• The Weaver

    Graphic and poetry by Ey@el

    Original en français

    Click on picture to enlarge

    I'm the toy in your attic,
    Weaving outside your box,
    Exploring the depths of your folly
    From the thread I'm hanging on.

    I'm the only gleam in your gloom,
    The imperfect match for your desperation.
    To catch a glimpse of me,
    You'll need to walk through the looking glass.

    I'm the mote in your eye,
    The forged memory you're playing with,
    The illusion you must let go of
    To finally pass the threshold.


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