Threads are woven,
like streams into a river;
or wisps into a cloud --
they weave into something beautiful.
Memories laced in violet,
peacock colored romance,
a tear doused in sky blue:
it is the tapestry of a mind
one withering and eroding
like the base of a mighty waterfall;
or the land under a tornado --
it despairs into emptiness
until my name is nothing but
conjoined syllables on her lips.
The unraveling of a tapestry is slow,
a simple snag in the seam.
Over time it falls apart
like a river scattering into the swamps;
or leaves in the four winds --
it lets gravity weigh it down.
We are told that love holds things together
but as she slips away
my weapon is nothing but an empty hand.
Time took something precious from her
without flinching; without a first glance,
leaving no evidence in her mind
but a river of blood in ours
and an eerie reminder
that time is as unforgiving
as the gravity that tore that first thread.
She unravels before my eyes
and time has me by the throat,
the best I can do is follow behind her
and pick up the pieces as she marches
unknowing and unbending.