Tapestry

Colors of thread woven

masterfully together by the


Weaver’s worn hands.

The underbelly knotted


with gnarly bumps, while

frayed yarn yanks back


I pick at the unsightly

places, tempting unravel.


The Weaver removes my

unskilled hand, gently placing


it in my lap; lays it down.

I watch in protest at the


progress. No beauty at the

bottom. The Weaver glides


along, adding strand after

strand of disjointed rainbows.


Time passes joining more

shaking heads in united


disapproval. Curses

rise in lieu of Holy praise.


The Weaver never flinches

at fists. Some walk away.


Others run. Some collecting

the scratch to make their own.

I stay seated for the

duration of the show.


The Weaver finally

satisfied, lifting His eyes


to meet the longing in mine.

“Well done, my good and faithful


daughter.” Beaming broad, turns the

tapestry for all to see


finally complete as He

reveals the endless glory.


A Love story hangs between

wood and nails. It is Finished.



By

JL McCarthy

September 7, 2020