The Fable Weaver

Conjuring up sights to fill the mind
days of long ago or those to come
eradications of now at any price
and she spins her fables for the world
never letting anyone close enough
to see the pain so well hidden
underneath the banners of words.

Into the dark hours she writes
locking out the possibility of dreams
for in them rests her truth
and endlessly the restless nights repeat
until the light of morning again rescues
and she cleanses away the night
then dons her daytime costume of the carefree.

© 2001 Marcia Miller-Twiford

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