The Weaver Of Fate Poem by Michel Galiana
The Weaver Of Fate
Neither call nor silence nor sleep have a threshold
Whereon your walk ceases and becomes flight or fall.
The song of a child is so faint and seems to rise
From the source of your pride.
Path is shine, not passage.
And if ever you drink from the Fountain of Age,
A voice shall sing to you your song, secret and low,
But its mouth shall be one of night and of sorrow.
As a steady weaver, I fetter, thread by thread,
The vibrating star which the watcher will desert.
Legend on the alert, do I serve gloomy grudge?
I'll expose to the view of the summoning judge
The frayed void in witness of my triumphant work.
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5/10/2024 6:52:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
LA TISSEUSE DE DESTIN L'appel, le silence où le sommeil n'ont de seuil Et tu ne trouveras où cesse le pas Ni vol, ni chute. Le chant d'un enfant si bas, Qu'il semble sourdre de la source de ton orgueil. Les sentiers sont des lueurs, non des passages. Si tu bois à la fontaine de l'âge, Une voix te dira ta chanson secrète, Mais la bouche sera de nuit, de deuil. Tisseuse têtue - et fil à fil s'immobilise L'astre qui vibre et que déserte le guetteur. Suis-je légende tapie ou plainte grise? Je montrerai quand m'assignera le juge Ce vide frangé où triomphe mon labeur. Michel Galiana (c) 2006