Growing tired.
Exhaustion takes hold.
Of a weeping soul.
The seamstress that worked too hard.
Unknowing how to stop.
As orders piled up.
But on this cold night,
A divine encounter aligned.
In the land that would only exist between these two.
The seamstress took a gamble.
Laying her garments down.
She placed her head upon the pillow.
Beckoning her to a dream.
Into a curious land she slept.
As time on the clocks stopped.
As her spinning wheel became quiet.
Dust cover her crafting table.
Her tools begin to rust.
She fell seamlessly into an endless dream.
As she explored a new identity.
In this world she found a tailor.
Who could mend her sorrows.
But even in this dream.
There was much distance between.
The seamstress and her tailor.
He beckoned her to craft in ways she hadn't before.
Echo in the designs of the tapestries he lined.
A tail of desperate sorrow lingered in his work.
She noticed the pigment and shadow words.
Her heart called out to her.
"I must find the tailor" she spoke.
"I have to reach him."
"He can't forget his worth."
-BM
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Late night poet - A Fantasy Realm
PoetryA Fantasy Realm - Part Five. Our sweet little poet is lost in a daydream, falling down rabbit holes, a clash with fame, the story goes on. - I hope you have been enjoying the "Late night poet" collection.
