Bound To the End

I pull the silk drapes of night back, and I watch as my darkest reality merges into nothing and everything where the beginning and the end are cradled in the hands of Mother-time and fold together, forever in prayer where the departed have yet to arrive, and the living genuflect on the unknown origin, of everything and nothing this wonder was unveiled in my awe of a universe, but a cord in the material of time, unbinds and now resting in solitary, forever confined to the black, of lost beginnings and abrupt endings and worried between the hands of the Mother I find I can only hold one end of the cord at a time, and its slipping through my fingers