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.