The Mortal Spool (A poem)

Around the mortal spool

She rolled her precious thread

Gray, black, white and red.

She rolled it carefully, with a muffled breath

Concealed the odious black

Behind the white thread.

She labeled the gray part with excuses,

With justifications.

And proudly warbled about

The clean obvious thread,

Harshly scrubbed the red.

She kept rolling and rolling

Wistfully knowing, this is coming to an end.

A divine fatal cut would determine

How dark, clean, vague or bloody

Her life before it ends.