A story waiting

        One word at a time. One story to be heard.
Echoes that walk with a soul for life. Memories that
cling to their piece in time.

         Ah a sigh quakes the paleness as the lines open
to a discovery. Hidden were the words. Softly covered
were the meanings.

          Now all that holds us together is the Truth. The
reality of the story. The side Jehovah saw all along.

          Taken down one by one. Each line, each letter
opens up an image. Sights that make us live, breathe
the tangent over once more.

           Holding back a sob. The story of whats, how's,
and when's say loud crackles of thunder. High howls
of catty laughter.

           Still I back away long enough to grip the
reality. Seeing the details, the fine lines of the entire
picture. I realize that a story has just begun. One
starting within another. Woven, weaving throughout
layers of years. Ah to see the irony of some details
in front of me but so many sliding fast to stay seated
behind. How such the world takes and twists. Turns
a gentle tap into something so perverse.

            The why's are there and yet it is best I do not
lean upon my own understandings. The why's do not
bother me. The how to help, does.

             Ah still many intricate, necessary pieces are
awaiting one moment, one second of time.

            So question is: who is weaving the story?