A SINGLE THREAD

A SINGLE THREAD
†
Oh grieve my friends', that walked this life with me,
that watched me war against the fates and time,
while each day as a single thread I see,
as I search for that golden thread sublime.
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Thread into thread I sadly weave my life,
from gold and greens of youth to blues of age,
each thread I knit with bitter lonely strife,
while Hell still holds the power in my rage,
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Where is my God that promised me my peace?
I find no peace among these ragged threads.
When may I rest and watch my rage decrease,
while recall like a poison banquet spreads?
§
If God were kind I would have died at birth,
that I'd not feel the void within my soul,
that now fills like the graves of bitter earth,
with rotted threads amassed to fill its hole.
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With broken hands I thread the weaver's loom,
from greens to black I see the colors fade,
while I count threads to weave my shroud of doom,
and wear the tattered garment that I made.
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That there was but a single thread of gold,
among the threads that through my fingers fell,
then I'd not rage against my growing old,
and life would not have been a living hell.
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Dream on my soul that cries in its dark grief,
the winds of time will sift your ashen bed,
if you'll just grasp and hold to your belief,
and knot with joy your garments final thread.
§
©2 September 2007 Emil J. Donatello