2.43 Weaver
Oh weaver, dear weaver, weaving me a beautiful and strong scarf for me to wear,
Not of silk, satin, velvet or wool, but that of a studier material as you do care.
Weaving a nice strong protective scarf to secure me and keep me forever safe,
Weave no more for your scarf is complete and you reassure me that it will not chafe.
Those artistic hands dancing and weaving , making a unique scarf ever so rare.
The weaving conjoined with a soft, mellow and soothing voice put my mind to rest,
Lulling me into a sense of false security for only in you do I ever see the best.
Once upon my neck, this sturdy scarf fashioned from rope starts to close and tighten,
I am struggling to breathe as the noose tightens, yet to me it does not frighten.
Finding it difficult to stay alive, pains enclosing and rising deep within my chest.
Tightening the fruits of your labour around my neck does the noose you fashioned choke,
Squeeze the life out of my body , watch your victory become complete as my voice does croak.
Slowly my body goes sad and limp with no fight left to fight, no life left to live,
I fail to understand and grasp why, for my love and devotion to you did I always give.
Yet some tale in your mind, some false fantasy has give you fuel to this fire to stoke.
The cold and empty embrace of death is the warmest I have felt in a number of years,
I welcome the noose that you have fashioned upon my neck, it brings to me no tears.
Weaver I embrace the nose that you shaped as you misled me to believe it was a scarf.
Whilst it may be your final victory, this death sets me free so it will be I who has the last laugh.
Death's cold and empty embrace brings me warmth and peace without your attached smears.
Maybe into the next world I can enter free from the eternal turmoil and constant pain.
I hope that there will be a kindness to me that I do not know that will free me from this rain.
Will I be able to escape the horrors or to surpass the falsities and pain I already know?
Whilst I have any ounce of strength remaining , my detriment I will hide and to you not show,
Now I am destroyed and ruined, a shell of my former self, I wonder what you had to gain.
***
Jamie Scott Watkinson-Harvey
Not of silk, satin, velvet or wool, but that of a studier material as you do care.
Weaving a nice strong protective scarf to secure me and keep me forever safe,
Weave no more for your scarf is complete and you reassure me that it will not chafe.
Those artistic hands dancing and weaving , making a unique scarf ever so rare.
The weaving conjoined with a soft, mellow and soothing voice put my mind to rest,
Lulling me into a sense of false security for only in you do I ever see the best.
Once upon my neck, this sturdy scarf fashioned from rope starts to close and tighten,
I am struggling to breathe as the noose tightens, yet to me it does not frighten.
Finding it difficult to stay alive, pains enclosing and rising deep within my chest.
Tightening the fruits of your labour around my neck does the noose you fashioned choke,
Squeeze the life out of my body , watch your victory become complete as my voice does croak.
Slowly my body goes sad and limp with no fight left to fight, no life left to live,
I fail to understand and grasp why, for my love and devotion to you did I always give.
Yet some tale in your mind, some false fantasy has give you fuel to this fire to stoke.
The cold and empty embrace of death is the warmest I have felt in a number of years,
I welcome the noose that you have fashioned upon my neck, it brings to me no tears.
Weaver I embrace the nose that you shaped as you misled me to believe it was a scarf.
Whilst it may be your final victory, this death sets me free so it will be I who has the last laugh.
Death's cold and empty embrace brings me warmth and peace without your attached smears.
Maybe into the next world I can enter free from the eternal turmoil and constant pain.
I hope that there will be a kindness to me that I do not know that will free me from this rain.
Will I be able to escape the horrors or to surpass the falsities and pain I already know?
Whilst I have any ounce of strength remaining , my detriment I will hide and to you not show,
Now I am destroyed and ruined, a shell of my former self, I wonder what you had to gain.
***
Jamie Scott Watkinson-Harvey