Shadow Weaver

Only a twenty-minute ferry ride

from Nanaimo, British Columbia,

across the bay to Gabriola Island

– my place of refuge for two months,

2,000 miles away from my former home.

There, amidst the solace of my retreat,

from the challenges of a wayward life,

I sheltered, during the winter,

while my soul had time to rest,

in safety, solitude, and quietude.

—– —– —– —–

Outside the perimeter of Gabriola,

the borders of the world could not infringe

upon my sense of time and place,

far away from the confusion of my past,

in expectation of a new life on the horizon.

And, the tides upon the beach,

watched with the silent eyes

of a New Age refugee,

rolled quietly upon the sands of time,

like my thoughts, amidst the ebb and flow

of my memories, some real, others not –

yet, unknown to me at the time,

that my personal past had been usurped

by a dark web of uncertainty,

spun by the weaver of sheker (falsity),

whose spell had now been broken.

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dVerse prompt

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The Stone

Many places, arrived at by life’s choices,

concretized in time, once a decision’s made.

A multitude of possibilities, cast aside,

in favor of the one, that changes everything.

—– —– —–

A blanket of snow in winter, covers

all growth, that has since decayed.

Spring brings renewal to the heart and mind;

consolation to the cobwebs of the past.

Summer bears the burden of responsibility,

when all is brought to the light of truth.

In preparation for the autumn leaves,

that will fall gently to the ground.

—– —– —–

These natural cycles are determined

by more factors than our own choices.

I was once given a polished stone,

a constant reminder of silence.