Threads

The threads of an old life,
Strung out so far behind -
I grabbed hold to them once more,
To escape the cellar of my mind.
My friends still smiled upon me,
Not one was less kind;
But inside something had shifted,
To which I was utterly blind.

Weary of my past well-written,
Aware of my crimes;
I pulled my gaze warily forward,
To forget those good old times.
What was once well was then ill,
In weathered new climbs -
And those fragile bells of love,
With delicacy, still chimed.

The intrigues of my nearest,
Brought silent lashings of my tongue;
Each handsome flight of fancy,
Saw struggling hands wrung.
Yet as I stared through sleepless eyes,
To the past my heart still clung;
As I winced through pleasures old,
Each bell within rung hollow, done.

It was I who blundered, so,
In picking up torn threads -
Friends from then, who let theirs go,
Are present now, with wiser heads.