Threading Needles

Seven sit threading needles by candlelight

their eyes dark, their hands in shadow

moving with the flame, the dripping wax

whispering as with one voice of things hidden

The tapestry they weave grows longer with the night

and they watch out the window

waiting for first light to break over the hills

hoping it will be too weak to chase away the shadows

too dim to cast silhouettes of their souls

—

Tax the rich or eat the rich, the choice is yours.

—

Published by Mitchel David Ring

Bartholomew Barker October 1, 20206:20 pm Reply

I bet they taste bitter.

LikeLiked by 1 person
1. Mitchel David Ring October 4, 202012:19 am Reply
  
  I bet you’re right!
  
  LikeLiked by 1 person
Ishaan Sharma October 1, 20209:09 pm Reply

beautiful poetry!

LikeLiked by 1 person
1. Mitchel David Ring October 4, 202012:19 am Reply
  
  Thank you (:
  
  LikeLiked by 1 person
Scrunch Foldington October 3, 20208:03 pm Reply

It’s not often I do a fist-pump or shout ‘hell yeah!’ at the end of reading a poem, but this one did the trick.

LikeLiked by 1 person
1. Mitchel David Ring October 4, 202012:15 am Reply
  
  ✊
  
  LikeLiked by 1 person
2. Mitchel David Ring October 4, 202012:21 am Reply
  
  Glad it worked! Cheers (:
  
  LikeLiked by 1 person

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