Strung Along

one thread
strains to be cut. 
or tied
strongly…
happily seeking no other knot.
the tangles have been no loops,
the curlicues have built tight mazes,
yet something still pulls it towards the stitch.
Who has landed it a line among
all the others wound upon paths,
intertwined and round?
After all, do they not all await
to enter the eye of light?
Becoming binded,
upon another worn destiny.

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