We are but spools of thread
Of varying lengths,
Each our own color and heft,
Yet anchored to the yarn
We raveled from.

Our bobbin unwinds
As the path we walk
Lays down our filaments,
Winding around the others’,
Weaving the fabric of our lives.

Until one day
Our cylinder falls
From the canvas of our souls,
And we are left to ask
Have our actions sewn beauty?