The Woven Thread

By Todd Oliver Stewart

The Woven Thread is a poetic maze of vivid imagery and tone that takes the reader on a journey through all the elements that make us human. It inspires feelings of both hopelessness and hope; dread as well as tranquility. More importantly, the work shows us our lost state and man's need for salvation.

This title is published by eLectio Publishing and is distributed worldwide by Untreed Reads.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Untreed Reads
• Release date: Apr 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781611879834

Book preview

The Woven Thread

By Todd Oliver Stewart

Copyright © 2013 by Todd Oliver Stewart

Cover Copyright © 2013 Jesse S. Greever

Cover Design by Jesse S. Greever

The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (eLectio Publishing) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

www.eLectioPublishing.com

eLectio Publishing wishes to thank the following people who helped make these publications possible through their generous contributions:

Chuck & Connie Greever

Jay Hartman

Darrel & Kimberly Hathcock

Tamera Jahnke

Amanda Lynch

Pamela Minnick

James & Andrea Norby

Gwendolyn Pitts

Margie Quillen

Other titles from eLectio Publishing:

Tales of the Taylor: Songs that Changed the World by Ethan D. Bryan

Learning to Give in a Getting World by Marcus R. Farnell, Jr. and Jesse S. Greever

At the Back of His Mind by T. Marcus Christian

Never Prosper by T. Marcus Christian

The Wall & Beyond by Joanna Kurowska

Drunk Dialing the Divine by Amber Koneval

The Advent of the Messiah: Finding Peace, Love, Joy, and Hope in a Modern World by Tony Turner

More From Life: 99 Truths to Understand and Live By by Christopher C. Dixon

Living to Give in a Getting World by Marcus R. Farnell, Jr. and Jesse S. Greever

Anabel Unraveled by Amanda Romine Lynch

The Sons of Hull: Book One of the Advocate Trilogy by Lindsey Scholl

Absolute Positivity: An Inspirational Story of Positivity, Prayer, and People by Karl B. Sanger

Hunger by R. H. Welcker

Striking Out ALS: A Hero’s Tale by Ethan D. Bryan

Soulmates by Mindy Kincade

www.eLectioPublishing.com

PROLOGUE

THE LILACS AND THE REED

I

What is the mother tongue of silence;

And what is the sound of the unspoken word?

Why is fear the song sung by the quiet;

And why does the spoken word go unheard?

How do the voiceless still yet sing,

And why can’t the voiced not yet speak?

How silent is the wind’s loud voice,

And by what measure does the rain rejoice?

Will it be harmonious when the bells ring,

Along with the prayers for joy and peace?

When the peacock spreads its feathers

And when the stork spreads its wings

Stretch all out, and attempt to break the tethers

While from the fire are forged the rings

That will take hold the souls of the bearers,

And fill them with the evil they’re destined to bring.

And so are they to be abandoned and forsaken

And by hell, will only their spirits be shaken.

But by the twisting of the twisted river,

And by the ticking of the moving hands

Of the clock that guides the hills that roll,

Up from the sunken swale,

And down from the lofty summit;

Lies the equilibrium of the soul.

II

When you smell in the wind, the fresh scent of garlic;

Running would be the wisest thing.

When the wind stops and the scent remains

Then you’ll know that the garlic man is coming.

Do you believe that drinking will numb the pain;

And that hiding from the grief will suppress it?

It will wait, and bide its time patiently;

And stalk silently within the dark caverns of your soul,

And then, begin to slowly swallow your spirit whole.

That boreal lake, the ghosts surround,

And the girl runs through the woods

That with rapists abound.

In the dark shadow I quietly stood

As the pretty girl was assailed,

She screamed, as the invasion sullied her blood.

As she moaned and as she flailed

The men withdrew from within her thighs,

For within the forest, they were entombed and jailed.

They fled, in an attempt to escape the glowing eyes,

That can see into their impenitent souls,

And that will take them to where their retribution lies,

In the frigid winds of the northern and southern poles.

But a lot of difference can occur within a year,

The girl has suffered and has cried some tears,

But I was there with her and I held her high,

Assuring her that with us, she has nothing to fear.

I smile when she laughs, and I weep when she cries,

Caring for the weak is the purest form of might,

I love this girl as if she were my own child,

She’s been a blessing, and a source of joy and light.

Sometimes you cannot always walk away

And sometimes you cannot turn

But I chose to stand there and watch

While those men did that horrendous thing to her.

Now I understand, that a child, and especially a girl

Is a priceless treasure weaved and knit together

By the masterful hands of God.

III

Freedom in this country is slowly dying

And so are the morals of its rulers.

They fear to face the faces they’ve betrayed

And they fear that the dead bones

Will rise and overtake them,

And at this thought they are dismayed

And are haunted and vexed by the wind

Along with its elegiac moans.

Ivy climbs from the shore

Up towards the summit of the cliff,

Odysseus and his men, fresh from war

On Poseidon’s sea wander adrift.

A pearl staircase winds

Up to the level of the seventh world

And descending is a sculpture of smoke,

And the glowing of it blinds

And the fire it has unfurls

Vindicating what the sage had spoke.

Distant, delicate and all consuming

Is the smoke that rises from the pyre,

And the dreaded darkness is still looming

Along with the faded moss that it has sired.

For a long time I’ve flown on wings that are broken,

And have sung a song that has no words,

Although you cry at night, that is when I smile;

But consider absurd the words that have been spoken

Or is it simply your soul that’s been perturbed

And the desert sand that the snow has beguiled?

But stayed away are the tulips,

And burnt away is the rose.

Why take away the scent of lilacs,

And leave my soul morose?

From the abyss to the mountaintop

Has soared the long-winged stork,

And out of and back into the mist

I return to my solemn work

Of clenching dead leaves and rose petals

While I beat the mired ground with my fist.

IV

The violins in the second chamber

All serenade the fire and the dust.

The china is shaken, while the spirit breaks.

And sitting with his spine erect

The young man frozen in an unsavory posture

Stares upward into the infinitude of nothingness,

While oblivion stares back with a faceless smile.

Still toward heaven, is my climb up the slope,

And my face is caressed by the cold air

And my bones are chilled.

Although fatigued, I still hold hands with hope,

That when I reach the peak

My soul’s gloom will disappear

But even so, to live on earth means to suffer.

But in our suffering, there are those willing to suffer with us

And those people I’ll call my friends

And until this world ends

This stance I will defend.

For if I cannot make you smile

I will cry with you.

For if I cannot take away your pain

I will weep with you.

And even as we weep,

And even as our tears flow

To form an ocean of despair

It is out of that despair that hope is found

And joy made known.

Lady, he saw a wraith

A wraith cloaked in black,

Wielding a red iron sword

To be driven through its own heart.

Lady, I will raise my daughter to be chaste and poised.

I will raise my son to be dignified,

Both will be set apart and born again.

V

Stop here and take a look at the skeletons of the dead,

And how their bones are enmeshed within these walls.

They were holy once, but abandoned their creed;

And now forever forsaken and bequeathed to death.

Son, my heart is benighted

At the dark path you’ve embraced;

You were of kind countenance

And of serene raising

In the light woods

Of the tranquil sister.

Mine eyes are as frozen

Balls of hail, that fall

Down but never land upon

The hills that are bathed in the

Light of our lost pariah.

O my son, O my son

I do beg and beseech

That you find the will to turn again

And run to the cross of our Messiah.

Lady, four white ribbons are in my daughter’s hair

Unwind the third ribbon and twist the second

And then the stair will descend

And its gates shall unlock.

But I do sense in you an underlying fear;

A paralytic dread that is akin to what a seal feels

When the great whites and the orcas

Come in on the tides to South Georgia

To commence the hunting season.

As the smoke bows before the throne of Death

Death itself falls dead.

Struck down by Light, and slain by Truth,

This is what the future holds for Death.

Mortal present, but immortal future:

The eternal destiny of all whom the Spirit indwells.

PART I

BLEED FOR ME

TORN

There was the tearing of nothingness,

When God spoke the words of creation.

There was the tearing of angels into good and evil.

There was the tearing of fellowship