in Writing

A Thread Himself

Clay molded by fingers grand came unto earthly, dire sand wandered, lost and muddled once naked now clothed, still, befuddled.

How dost humbled now, the pair, cast out from their utopian share. But what and whose plan did inact causing them to break their pact?

Oh nemesis, genesis of misfortune, schemer, crusader for ethereal portion, one who wrights with malignant intent cannot destroy the design that is meant!

Fine threads do easily break, that is how the fiend builds his stake, but a thread himself cannot see (,a member he), the tapestry of infinity.

So weasel all the while, and over an inch gain a mile, because a mile cannot compare, to the endless, all-knowing, almighty stare.