Roaming

It was already late in the day

when my thoughts took me down an odd path

one their feet must remember

as I had not meant to go there

And the way

seems dark and drear and fey

and familiar

as in not quite the same

but very similar

and it’s clearly been a while

since it was last visited

So my mind must have an infatuation with the macabre

as it’s literally taken me there for a look

instead of just remembering that the way existed

bullet-pointed

noted

listed

then brushed aside

There are other paths

better trodden in

much more frequented

every nuance known and resented

not so freshly scored

yet not yet grassed over

as in my head I am still a rover

And it matters not

which path

as they all converge

on the same mill stone carved from lodestone

the same pull that draws the needle home

and pulls thoughts thread with it

unravelling the meticulously stitched pattern

leaving just pin-pricks of needle sticks

A relic

and also template

for a pattern

it is sometimes hard to not repeat