The Web
Carefully drawn cords of silver drape through empty space
Clinging securely to the walls
Of Heaven’s broad expanse,
Delicate & beautiful as wisps of angels breath
Wisdom’s web glistens brightly, moonbeams for its threads.
Moments of awakening form foundations
Where intersecting thoughts conceive,
Giving birth to the web
Where spirit and substance meet.
True form evades attempts to glimpse,
“Keep spinning &you may see”
More is spun, is born, and rests
Yet more remains undone,
For Heaven’s holy, silken drape,
The form of truth divine,
Now but a web, more nothingness
Than substance of design.
Glowing; founded surely,
Nothingness remains
Waiting in audible silence
For more light to distil.
As pure or rough as light may be
Matters very little,
Though light it is, cords & threads,
Now is just a bug.
The keeper of this web, you see,
Must make it what it is.
Refining matter, exposing light,
To weave into his web.
Thread by thread a cloth appears,
Less nothing than before,
Brighter & stronger than the web
Derived from eternal form.
Now shining forth as the Sun,
Sublimity achieved,
The keeper’s eye beholds the gaze
Of Heavens Brilliant King.
Glorious, glorious, is the fountainhead
Of light & truth, of sight and sound,
God, I see thee now
The keeper’s art is beautiful,
Its origin: himself,
A tapestry of light is formed
Sired by beings of light.
As refining occurred, & Truth exposed
The keeper breathed it in,
In image of the Holy One
He now is formed to be.
Though beautiful the tapestry
Much more it’s designer,
Made equal to the task at hand
Endowed to work as God.
