By Isolde
Date: 15 January 1999

Love's Tapestry

Chaste and solitary
Like the Lady of Shalott.
Alone in my tower,
Gazing into the mirror
Of this silvery screen,
Seeing so vividly
The reflection of our hearts
As they travel across these wires,
Emoting electrons
Which I weave into 
The tapestry of our love.
My nimble fingers tapping out
Bright silken hues of desire,
Dazzling threads of passion,
Soft shades of tenderness,
Entwining them into
The fabric of our shared life.
Forbidden more than this reflection,
Seen in the mirror of technology.
Endeavoring to content myself
With this representation of our love,
This silken web of words.
But for all it's exquisite beauty,
Is this tapestry enough
To sate my hunger
For the real,
The physical,
The embodiment
To accompany the vision?
Can I be content
To sit and weave this tapestry of words,
Sustained by its richness,
By it's indescribable depth and subtlety?
Or will I choose,
As did Tennyson's fair lady,
To rise from my loom,
Fingers ceasing their endless rhythm,
Turning from the magical mirror,
And it's reflection of our love,
Leaving the realm of the vision,
To enter the outside world.
Knowing the curse,
Cracking the mirror,
Breaking my vows,
Abdicating my principles,
Accepting the consequence
Of trading the reflection for the reality.
Embracing the death of my conscience
In order to savor
That one brief moment
In the flesh,
Enfolded in ecstasy
In my true love's arms.