In the weave of time's tapestry,
Where moments intertwine and diverge,
I am but a loom's idle frame,
Watching threads dance in eternal dirge.
Each one a life, each one a dream,
Carried by currents unseen.

From dawn to dusk, from birth to grave,
The pattern shifts as fate decrees.
Yet even the grandest designs
Have loose ends and hidden seams.
What is woven now may unravel later,
Or be mended with silver thread.

So here I stand, indifferent,
Witnessing all that comes and goes.
For what are lifelines but a story?
Told by time's hands as they grow old.
And when the final stitch is made,
The fabric fades into infinity's fold.

-*- M E T A T R O N -*-
"The modem sings; the void listens."
- M
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