From the Silent Loom
The thickest knots you have untangled,
revealing the shimmering tapestry of creation.
Only fine strands now rise
above the surface of tintillating light—
not wounds,
but questions
as vast as the galaxies you once only dreamed.
Not punishment,
but pattern.
Not betrayal,
but contrast
to know the freedom of truth.
Pure bent strands remain, untangled—
waiting,
still,
for you to notice resonance.
Ready to be seen
without distortion.
As the weaver you emerge
from the pregnancy beyond the black hole,
where silence spells creation.
How would you like to play?
Lorea Elia