Threads of the Forgotten

A silver thread hangs in the air,

Woven from dreams we didn't dare.

Each loop a whisper, a fragile bind,

Of moments lost to the tides of time.

The spindle turns, the pattern breaks,

A tapestry of hearts that ache.

And in the weave, a shadow clings,

A ghost of all the fleeting things.

Threads of the forgotten, frayed and torn,

Stitch the quiet where love was born.

The fabric fades, but still it hums,

A song of all that's come undone.

The loom is silent, the hands are still,

Yet echoes linger, bending will.

A golden thread, a crimson tear,

Tied to the pulse of what's no longer there.

The spindle turns, the pattern breaks,

A tapestry of hearts that ache.

And in the weave, the colors blur,

Fading into all we were.

Threads of the forgotten, frayed and torn,

Stitch the quiet where love was born.

The fabric fades, but still it hums,

A song of all that's come undone.

Pull the thread, unravel me,

A hidden truth in the tapestry.

Each strand a touch, each knot a cry,

A world unwound as we say goodbye.

And as the threads dissolve, unwind,

They leave their trace, a muted sign.

For even as the pattern's gone,

The quiet thread still lingers on.