The Woven Thread
From the silent loom
the single thread is drawn,
A fragile line
that binds the present day;
It weaves through shades
of twilight and of dawn,
And maps the paths
where fragile heartbeats stray.
In sorrow’s night,
in joy’s ephemeral gleam,
The pattern forms
a tapestry of time,
A waking truth,
an everlasting dream,
Touched by the hands of fate,
of human crime.
We watch it flow,
this river of our years,
A current deep with laughter
and with loss,
Through sunlit fields
and valleys of our fears,
We bear the weight,
accepting of the cost.
Until the shuttle halts,
the pattern done,
The story told beneath
a common sun.
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