The Crimson Tapestry
Reflection
In the heart of shadows, where the crimson whispers,
A symphony of glass and liquid dreams unfolds.
Each vessel, a silent sentinel, cradles secrets,
Their reflections dance in the flicker of candlelight,
A tapestry woven from the threads of time and memory.
Here, the still life breathes, a testament to the fleeting,
A mirror to the soul, where the past and present meet.
The reds are bold, a river of passion and mystery,
Guiding the eye through a labyrinth of beauty and decay.
In this stillness, there is a pulse, a rhythm,
A call to the viewer, to see themselves in the chaos,
To find their own stories in the fractured glass,
To embrace the duality of life and loss,
And to find solace in the beauty of impermanence.
For in the crimson tapestry, we are all woven,
Each thread a memory, each shard a moment,
A reminder that in the stillness, we find our voice,
And in the quiet, we discover our own crimson tapestry.