Fissures In The Fabric Of My Words Poem by Thomas Buckley

fissures in the fabric of my words
with every silken thread silently sewn

a blanket patched together
piece by piece, lie by lie
strand by strand connecting my voice
to the murmurings passing my lips

yet, there is a calling to be heard
a recorded set of instructions to follow
(left by a ghost of the past forgotten
lost in translation-
his code unknown, his words unheard)

and warnings from the book unread
pages torn from the binding as the spine
cracked under the pressures of aging

and stories that no one ever knew
continued to wrinkle on paper, yellowing
and fading and ink running blind

like water- the black and blue of his type
faded into the paper to be forgotten like his name