by Nick Gisburne
A thread of silk, not ready, yet, to break,
She spins her story, inch by inch, through time.
With every fault, a knot, a small mistake,
She flinches at the folly of the crime.
She drags a heavy load, her life, her past,
And every error adds another stone.
The difficult reminders time amassed,
With fate, with failure, weigh on every bone.
Determined, with a salty, snarling cry,
She lifts a middle finger to the day.
Defiant, she declines to justify
The twisting path she treads to make her way.
Between the flaws her silk is perfect, pure,
And only time can break a strand so sure.
