A fraying thread,
Presenting for notice,
Hangs from the stitch,
Woolly, fraught, and red.
A dress of some age,
Bought years ago,
Done well to last this long,
For a fraction of a wage.
It’s an ignored tease,
Of little concern then,
And less later,
Putting your mind at ease.
But all of a sudden undone,
Unravelled and unspooled,
Returning to a shaggy ball,
Waiting to be spun.
Take a moment to sew,
Turn back the hands of time,
And you’d have delayed,
The inevitable disappointing woe.
And as you weave,
A needle desperate to contain,
Remember the closet full,
Of clothes just as eager to leave.
At some point you must admit,
As shambles hang off your form,
That you must part with the old,
And buy, as they say, a new fit.
#HI
About the Creator
Conor Matthews
Writer. Opinions are my own. https://ko-fi.com/conormatthews


Comments (2)
Out with the old, in with the new. Easier said than done for me, lol. Loved your poem!
The fraying thread symbolizes the quiet unraveling of something once whole, a beautiful metaphor for how time affects both objects and lives. The contrast between the dress’s durability and its eventual decline adds a layer of reflection on impermanence.