The hand is at the ready loom on high
And waits to tempt the telling scene and ply
Its gentle trade, recording time and tide
To tell another one who came and tried
To comprehend her story in the weft
And warp, the images do merge from left
To right, and speak the seeds of bannered truth
That’s told by all who seek such lies, forsooth
For each man makes his own dear truth, persists,
Refusing that true right and wrong exists
But that which seems true wrong and right to him.
Not I! Says each and ev’ry, but that sin
Is first, to deny one’s fault first and last
And claim the loom prophesies truth to pass
For you and you alone and he and he
As well does claim the weaver’s hand to be
His own, but she does weave for none other
But she herself, while brother and brother
Do fight and strive and kill before the loom
And so create the fate that seals their doom.
***
Meter: iambic pentameter
Rhyme: couplets
Disclaimer: No AI of any kind, generative or otherwise, was used in any way to write this poem.