Intricate weavings of my soul,

Tossing and turning here and there,

Double back, loop around,

It’s all a game, a game I play,

End of the day I tie it off,

End it for a moment’s rest,

My splintered hands are laid down,

I let them sleep through the night,

For heaven knows what they’ve been through,

Know what they have always seen,

String after tie, tie after string,

Over and over,

Under and under,

Every day for all their lives,

Newer patterns rarely come,

To relieve those cyclic knots,

Which they are forced to make each day,

As my life goes rushing by,

A record of the day’s events,

Wrapped up in the complex weave,

How my soul flew when he said,

Softly whispered, “I love you,”

All of this is choreographed,

Made as one with all else there,

Ever becoming part of me,

As deeper it is woven still,

Changes the knot for a time,

But all fades off as colors wear,

From bright blue, to faded tan,

As new slips off and old shines through,

The knot is changed, something new?

No, it all fades to routine,

So although different, sameness keeps,

And my hands, they long once more,

For something new to come along….