The Seamstress
A seamstress of the emptiness
The brokenness and vast
Loneliness, to the times we missed
And wish we could take back.
A breath of golden stitching
Knotted tightly in forced loops.
The caress of the old and itching,
Where hate and darkness stoops.
This wonton existence, sewn together
Through dark and closeted means,
Bring forth the wave of souls endeavored
To harsh and broken dreams.
“Not I” you say, wallowing about;
Sunbathed in all your pity.
If tears and fears created hurricanes
You’d bog down and drown this city.
You owe your debt to the seamstress too-
Everyone has come and paid.
You think she’d let the worst of you,
Leave the fine to be mislaid?
You say that you’re fine,
The Earth knows that you’re not.
The moon and the stars, they speak.
The seamstress sews a crooked line
And the creatures and planets weep.