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The Loom
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Eons
Traverse this corner, pulled by the bend.
Find ourselves clinging. Find ourselves shaken and hesitant.
We see our size. We see our place.
Glued to the souls that sustain us.
We see our shape. We see our speed.
Fixed on this gear as it grinds, digging a path over time.
Forward we are falling. Spinning, twisting, writhing.
Far off forces calling us closer, closer, closer.
Far off voices calling us, closer to forever.
As we begin to allow, leaving questions behind,
aware and enlivened with our existence,
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and yet we're still spinning, twisting, writhing.
Inside we stretch our spirits, out of touch we plug our ears,
With each convulsion against this glow, it slowly brightens.
Not to spite us, but to bring us to terms with the reality
that we must pull ourselves.
It's only a matter of time we don't have.
A question of spending life we won't get back.
We're plunging anyways, we might as well go headfirst.
Instead of wasting eons defining who we serve.
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