I hold the grains of time in my hand,
Fingers clamped as tight as they can.
Alas! They slip despite my efforts.
I breathe a breath of life,
Not grasping its power until...
It's caught in my throat!
I no longer breathe in light and life
But gasp dark, black death.
The rain of pure, clear water
Has become this grey acid
Full of malevolent tears
From indignant eyes.
The eyes watch their god fall
And Thanatos walks over,
Not as friend or foe.
Despite that, his brethren,
Hypnos, too approaches.
Both of their eyes,
Unfeeling, dull.
Children of Night Queen and Lord of Darkness,
They come to take me away.
The Moirai have decided my fate.
Clotho has spun my thread.
Lachesis has already measured the length,
Only for their sister, Atropos, to cut it.
What can be woven with my thread;
what will become of it?
Shall it be sewn
To make meaningful, impactful fabric,
Or shall it merely be thrown
To the ground as scraps, trash?
Can my existence be salvaged?
Can I mend the bonds I have torn?
- Written November 24, 2015 @ 8:58 PM
- Edited March 23, 2022 @ 2:42 AM
