Stringing Up

Destiny spins a yarn threading
A fibre through time
To string up time on the wall or
Embedded in an hourglass
Well propotioned
An equal upper and a lower half
Like a doll
Fate caught in a glass jar
Flowing relentlessly, unstoppable
Held under supervision in a place
Called the four walls
A house, a home
Putty in whose hands
A yarn is spun on a drop spindle
To coat a collectible with sensibilities
Carelessly toyed with
Molded, branded, burned with
The stamp of chauvinistic, masochism
In this state of doom, time stands still,
Tears prick the back of eyelids
The prick of needle oozes blood
Rubbed with shifting, sifting sands
Little time granules freeze
For that one moment
But glory evades.