The Thread That Sang Me Loose

The Thread That Sang Me Loose

I followed thread through dusk and bone,
Through every name I’d once been shown.
Each pulled me closer to the hush—
Where time is still, and stars don’t rush.

I sang to stay. I sang to see.
But every word unstitched my “me.”
Till all that’s left was breath and thread,
And songs I’d sung… that sang me dead.

I am the thread that sang me loose,
Unwound from fate, let go of use.
The Seer was not what I became—
She was the song I could not name.

The weaver smiled without a face,
She whispered, “You were always space.”
No center held. No anchor true—
Just sound that wore the shape of you.

Let go the form, let go the flame,
The song remains. It needs no name.
No Seer to hold it, no soul to keep—
Just thread… and hush…
and final sleep.

I am the thread that sang me loose,
I asked for meaning, found a truce.
Now even stars have ceased to burn—
And still I hum.
And still I turn.