Hanging Tapestry

Your bruises wear like a hanging tapestry.
Purple details woven into the skin.
Bitter remembrances, stitched into a whole.
 
You couldn't of known the reasons you were being stretched.
You wouldn't of imagined the threads there to shape you.
 
But didn't those threads give you color?
The reds, & the golds?
 
And didn't the warps, give you a structure, to which you've fastened?
 
A radiant celebration, you've become.
Much more complete, in your intricacies.
Unwavering art, that fashions triumph.