Short Atropos Poems
Short Atropos Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Atropos by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Atropos by length and keyword.
We are like a pair
of scissors: alone - useless
blades of solitude,
but together - Atropos'
shears cutting the thread of fate.
A life cut after time
alive and errors made
and lessons from sisters:
acceptance from Clotho -
a hand in weaving birth;
aware from Lachesis
that life is a wonder.
Shears, indifferent where the fibers led,
She wielded innocent of dread,
Cutting what her sisters fed.
Slicing each fragile thread,
Thickened puddles spread,
steaming and red,
As he bled,
In bed.
Dead.
Rhymed Nonet
Never been in love
Though I don't know your password
I will give you mine.
It's silly love song
I do not know the lyrics
But my heart sing it.
I'm not used to dance
I have feet not synchronize
Love made it this time.
Mouth may unconfessed
But the body has language
That heart can relate.
I may not known love
But since the time I meet you
Good reason to change.
Walking the line… as dancers in life
Stepping gingerly avoiding strife
Step by step not looking left or right up or down
Eyes fixed upon living life’s line --
Played out by Klotho—
Measured by Lachesis
In a nanosecond a fatal slip,
Causes an unexpected trip
Atropos’ final snip--
Fragile system malfunction
Resulting in extreme unction.
I as you, play my part
As we on Charon’s craft depart.
Mary Ann Buchanan, copy write 2014
THE FATE OF ATROPOS
I like to tell myself
“I am a dreamer “.
But, it’s not always true.
I’m afraid of the shoe that drops
Like others, I fear the sudden
Knock at the door.
I dread being poor, and worry
The fury of telling false truth.
The proof is; it attracts Atropos,
The Sister of Old Women-
Who likes to scare me.
But, I still dream a lot.
I like to tell her who cuts.
So what? Why not?
a curtal sonnet
Each obituary I read is mine;
husband, wife, son and daughter abide where
the records of their lives do still exist;
motality belongs to time's design,
stitching out each minute without prayer,
and you are simply helpless to resist
the imagination of the Weavers~
when will Atropos become the slayer,
and with her sharpened scissors give a twist,
putting all your plans to naught as reavers
take your soul for grist?