The Thread

Reflections of a subtle feeling.

It stretched before me, a silver thread

Thin as spiders' silk, and all the more delicate

Appearing before me under cloud covered sun.

From whence it came I did not know.

Why I should see it after so many years

So tenuously tethered to its imperceptible grasp

Hiding from its silver glare as a guilty thief

Yet, that it was mine I could not deny

Coming to me, a silent prophet.

It spoke no scripture,

Gave no condemnation,

Repealed no sin that I had committed.

Yet the weight of judgement bore down upon me.

Here then, was my Armageddon.

A field of war and desolation

A lonely street on a cold day.

There was no foe to overcome

No triumph of good over evil

For when had I ever been more

Than a struggle of both?

But death remains.

And the thread was tapped.

Tuning for a crescendo I would not hear,

Its notes ringing in the air;

Church bells of a primal steeple

Drawing dusk down upon my head

Hiding the living world from my sight.

All color, all yearning, all tragedy,

Dimmed to bare necessity

Significance lost, guarded by a sword

Not of flame, but of cold.

And I, least significant of all

And all the more lost for it.

At the sun's face, the thread flees.

Yet the cold remains.

I cannot stop; one foot before the other

Draws me onward.

Concealed and certain,

My thread is running slack. 

Author's Note

Any guidance is welcome, as I'm still severely inexperienced with writing poetry.

Reviews

[Weeping willow]

I loved it, was very expressive ;-] Keep writing and your poems will improve to your liking.

[SaintdeSales]

Appreciate it. Sound advice too. It's worked for me with everything else. :)