Hanging by a Thread poem by Cynthia Kosciuczyk

The grasp is tenuous at best,
the thread that ties me to the world.
each strand was securely woven in the beginning.
over time many homes and travels, the ties 
the ties were loosened.
A thread or two at first.
Damage was done by others.
the web of society isolating fibers
that shine differently in the light.
Some homes didn’t know how to care for them.
others made conscious efforts to thwart their beauty.
As if the design itself could be a threat!
As the knife and scissors approached,
the threads rewove in another direction.
having met the same fate
The weaving does not treat the thread kindly.
Its efforts to begin a foundation 
have been ripped from the loom.
Story after story tested the threads 
to their limits.
As the tension was applied numerous times in 
inhuman amounts, the tapestry remains
anchored to humanity by one fine golden thread.

Published by cynthiakinusa

I am out and about in San Diego, creating networks of good hearted people, exciting places, discovering fine foods and music and adopting projects!

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