One of Fate's traids
Threads spun long with great twine sides
From birth to the hearse
New day, new haiku!
I'm covering the the Moirai aka the Fates now! They were known to be the daughters of Zeus and Themis predominantly, but I have heard their parentage vary: from Chaos to Nyx to even Gaia. One of the best parts about myths is that it's so malleable. They were in charge of the fates of mortals, from who were born to who died and each have their own unique tasks as well. Clotho was the spinner - she spun the threads of life and death to which this haiku talks about. Imagine how that sort of power of life and death in your very hands. It's truly something that is quite amazing to think about as well as terrifying.
Anyway, thank you all for growing followers, I'm forever humbled and grateful for the support 🙏🌹💜
Here's the link for the growing collection:https://hellopoetry.com/collection/132853/the-women-of-myth/
Be back tomorrow with another one!
Please take care of yourselves and stay safe!
indistinctively I took a hasty step
the ground below my feet rumbled
balancing my way on a thread like lawn
comprehending how it's like to be free
thoughts corrupting my mind
compulsive actions I do like mime
I ask myself countless of times
is there an end to this
once upon a time?
The song of eastern river from afar.
Once again, time has come to visit.
Like the thread that you hold,
time weaves and unfold.
While my memories is still strong,
I recite this old song.
Life is cut and stilled in the midst of time,
with moments engraved in heart,
I sing this song in time.
The thin glistening needle threads
back and forth,
back and forth.
As the black thread slowly tangles in a knot
It twists and turns through each circle,
creating a lump in the center,
stoping the artist in their track,
forcing them to ponder on the black thread.
Should they continue?
Or should they stop,
cut the string and restart,
unwind new thread,
And strain their eyes again?
Even when I unravel,
hope still hangs on by a
Time has fed a burning fire with dying embers.
A dwindling light in the winter wind, flickering
As the night sought to put it out but could not,
Resisted death and not once lost its light.
Still I pitied it. A candle hanging by a thread,
Waging quarrels with the wind, found no solace
In my cupped hands. The cold and bitter tears
Of these winter nights pelted its withering spirit.
Written some day last June 2019.
your calloused hands are softer than any i’ve ever held. sometimes i think about how when you hold mine it feels like they’re stitched together because it’s so difficult to pull them away when i have to leave.
it’s sweet thinking about how maybe every hole life has poked in us may just be where the thread needed to go through in order to have pulled us here today.
Fate is a thread,
the breadcrumbs that never fades.
Sometimes, it's best to relaxed,
let that thread guides you.
Only fate knows where the thread ends,
you are simply a visitor guided by its invitation.
cascade falls of feelings when I think of her take action between my legs
our lack of sanity was never the downfall of us
as our love was meant to be hanging by a thread
is it never going the be enough? she’d ask every time she gave me head