Tapestry

Unveil, thou canst,
It’s already buried, Orphic a thought,
Curtained in pensive mind, and tightly enveloped,
Life has tapestry become, cocooned.

A Tapestry, into Rosy petals, melts,
Intricate, beneath benumbed feet doth stretch,
Centuries old is this ornamental tapestry,
And the other one, hasn’t crossed nineteen.

Dissimilar are they both, by material,
The first, made of finest Persian thread, silken,
The other, built of thought and speculation,
But both are worn now, this, they share in common.

The first tapestry, elaborate, is a timeless classic,
And the other, is tattooed with guilt and is coughing sick,
The first tapestry, hides nothing,
The second, a million sorries, is singing.

The former, is fancy and inanimate,
The latter, is not of good taste,
Even if worn by time, the Persian rug shall classic, remain.
The other, designed of nerve and blood, in guilt, shall decay.

My hands do clean the delicate rug,
Slowly, Glamour is regained, as separates dust
But this other one, is still sick,
How can it ever beautiful become, how can it, guiltlessly, speak?

The riddling song-bird spoke at 3:19 p..m on the 23rd of December, 2009.