Pieces by pieces, strand by strand,
My thoughts astray, sewn anew;
Out of bluish charms spurt a wispy strand,
In a casual manner spins a cryptic web.
In a moldy box in a darkened corner,
Tangles abstruse in a forlorn clutter.
A creak, a groan, its secrets uncovered,
Contents frail, daunted by exposure.
Away from the dim light it shies away,
Yet in gradual boldness creeps to the edge.
With a hasty swipe a hand tears away
Every boldness, secret, tale and trait.
In a crumpled shamble another story lies,
Brokenness and crumbles furtively lie.