The Slip Knot Thread
If I could turn the clock's proud hands around,
And make the past a silent, yielding clay,
What single thing would be my hallowed ground?
What solitary debt would I repay?
Not Caesar's fall, nor some forgotten war,
No grand design upon the human stage,
But just a little moment, nothing more,
A single, unremarked, forgotten page.
I'd find the day the friend-thread started thin,
The one I broke with words of careless spite.
I'd go to the spot where pride won the grin,
And chose the bitter shadow over light.
While with my power used to hold my tongue,
To bite the lip and let the anger cool.
To choose the path of love while we were young,
And not to act the self-important fool.
The world would turn, the stars would still align,
No empires built, no new philosophy.
Albeit, modest, subtle world of mine,
A broken thread would mend, eternally.
And I would trade history's roared acclaim,
I'd bid that one small change, so soft and low,
To keep a bond from ever knowing blame,
And watch the seeds of understanding grow.
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