C.W.Blackburn
Weaver
For every song, there is a season. Each note, flickering and dancing in the air, imagining new realities into being. So much still lives in the silence, waiting to find its design, to be woven from the untouchable light into a pure pattern of sound—a great mandala, transforming icy tears of longing into spring’s rosy fountainheads, a perfect universe held forever in its melody.
Cut the warp to fit the loom—this life is a narrow thread, numbered by the fabric of creation. The rhythm changes, day by day, as from the spacious heart, luminous colours emerge, gracefully. I want only to be wrapped in that lullaby your voice is weaving, to feel that Christlike shine snaking up and down my spine—to know the beautiful truth at the centre of the infinite and eternal nothing.
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was a Song, stitched tightly into the womb of listening …
when she sings,
the clocks all clap their hands —
I disappear into the song,
the song disappears
into me . . .
About the Author
C.W. Blackburn is a mystic poet who lives in Bournemouth, a seaside town on the south coast of England. He has authored five collections of poetry, and his work has also been published in Kindred Spirit, Presence, Ribbons, and Dreich