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The weaver

Lies. The lies that ripple and swell - they are all around us. They encompass me. Naked. I feel naked. I am clothed yet exposed.

I whisper and a lie squeaks out. I yell and a lie burst thru the silence around me. I do not trust my truths, my thoughts, my visions. They are all parts of the whole. The lie that has grown so large that it no longer is a part of the whole but it is the whole. It defines the mind, body and now the soul. Who am I? Who am I to you? You cannot say for you do not really know me. I am hidden, as planned in the dire of the lies that have unfolded for the past several years. It is a beautiful weave depending on who you are. For me it is sustenance. It is a way to cope with the mundane, the dreams yet unfulfilled, the desires unmet. Naked I unfold and weep. I weep for you and me and the truths that do not deliver peace.

Peace is a metaphor for my torment. Will you find out? Will you forgive? Must I run away, again to create a life anew and start all over? The itch must be scratched. It yells and hollers and beats upon the unopened door. I try to shield it from the tongue but when I am not looking, not chained to the truth it escapes, unbinds itself only to unfurl its petals to reveal the most beautiful woven tale of love, beauty, passion and then the center is revealed. Water has crept in and rotted the center, the purity of the core. Naked it has shed its petals and stands unabashed only to belashed by the escaping truths.

I am the weaver. The one you do not know.

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