Eons of Fate

Silk, burlap,
hemp, or cotton,
perhaps satin,
wool, or others
forgotten, the loom
whips, furious,
under the gaze
of its mistress,
a Fate,

or a goddess.

Storyteller, Weaver,
her deft hands,
ink-stained fingers,
calloused by eons
of Fate-Weaving
the lives and deaths
of true believers…

her hands weave
the unfolding
future, needle-touch
the thimble,
unfeeling.

Mismatched, yet still
a masterpiece, it
records our story
before it’s read,
aloud, or whispered,
to the infant souls
of the god-children,
awaiting a fate…
their human story.

“We are replete with life,
death, and mortal glory!”

Fringed with hubris,
stitched with love,
laced injustice,
a story, bespoken,
woven-panel thirds.

She rests, so weary,
and eyes each thread,
such differing appearance,
dye-stained and bled.
Yet, harmonious together…
the most perfect weft.

Return to the task, Mother
Fate, weave your tapestry.

We will wait
for the End Times,
as the hem is made,
as vivid images,
thread-knit, poor
or rich, speak of us
in hook, loop, or stitch.

Her mortal story
ends at the beginning,
like Ourobouros,
head bites tail,
neverending.

But, alas, one day
she will lock the stitch
and finally display
her heaven-sent gift
on the Walls of Fate
for her fellow gods
to praise,

even though each knew
the ending.


©️ CG Tenpenny, 2018.

One Comment on “Eons of Fate

  1. Nice ending. I love, “for the End Times, as the hem is made” and I got lost on the Wikipedia trails following ourobourus, bewildered I’ve existed so incompletely without this knowledge, left with the curiousity of when you first discovered this ancient symbol. Nonetheless, I am pleased to take this as I return to my dreams (I will try to distract the fletcher if I see him lurking near your catcher…)

    Liked by 1 person

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