The world of craft is at my fingertips
Working my hands to the bone on the loom of my soul
Silver strands of beads and feathers, I work with light.
Walkinga path worn by decades of staff,
their art surrounding my art,
their creativitiy, my legacy.
Copper wires and sharp pairs of scissors, can you hear them calling?
Piercing sounds.
You ask me a question
I will reply.
The world of craft is at my fingertips.
I work discards into commandments.
Thou shall not waste.
Teaching able fingers to curve a loop of crystal
Cutting t-shirts into strips for halter-like garments,
now sewing, just skill.
The world of craft is at my fingertips.
I work adornment into power.
Cutting chains into forged links of colored glass,
dangling freedom from ears
and throats and necks
'til humanity can only sing one song.
The world of craft is at my fingertips.
I raise voices in discord,
shining brass plates into shields,
small hands working sharp tools,
winking out dreams of reality.
I raise mallets in combat,
fighting beat by beat until all that is left is malleable to touch.
My fingers form stress relieving balls of
original satisifaction.
The world of craft is at my fingertips.
Working my hands to the bone on the loom of my soul
Silver strands of beads and feathers, I work with light.
Walking a path worn by decades of staff,
their art surrounding my art,
their creativitiy, my legacy.
Copper wires and sharp pairs of scissors, can you hear them calling?
Piercing sounds.
You ask me a question
I will reply.
The world of craft is at my fingertips.
