That Hole You Made

My heart hurts a little tonight, so I wrote a poem.  It doesn't take away the sorrow, but it expresses it.

That hole you made, when you hadn't the right.

With a child's scissors you cut in, with deep jagged edges

And left a gaping wound.

The tree was a tapestry, lovely from it's start.

Weft and Warp; Strong sturdy wool

And gossamer silk combine.

Branch by branch it was made by its creators

Each stitch a token of love

And then, as though its loveliness hurt 

and with an understanding that matched your tool

You started snipping with blunted blades at first

Catching the threads that wove around the sturdy warp.

You thought yourself a genius for catching a flaw

Never understanding that the warp was the strength.

As you gnawed yourself free

You left a hole, when you hadn't the right.

You weakened the whole

Undoing more than you intended, 

Cutting loose what wasn't flotsam

But part of a valuable treasure.  

The treasure wasn't yours to take

It belonged to the whole and to the weavers.

Will you come back and fix that which in your childish sense of fairness

You destroyed? 

Will it become whole again?  Can it?

I feel the hole.  I who have shared in the work on the tree.

In dismay and with a heavy heart

I feel it to my core.  This gaping wound with its ragged edges.

There is a weaver greater than I

Whom I trust

With my everything, with my portion.

He will make our tapestry whole again.  

He will undo the hole you made when you hadn't the right.

And I trust Him.