waste

as they unball my thread
with all its snarls and tangles
one of them will comment or complain
at what a waste so much it was
how a tie could have been made here
instead of the vacillating turn away
that became gordian, yanked
and made the reachable tantalus-close.

oh, one will pip, this speaks skeinfuls
of the sin of inefficiency, and
perhaps, of cowardice, laziness, the
hesitancy of mortal men to grasp
themselves in a pinch, and pass the
eye of the needled moment, to
ultimately fail and fray and stray again
and yet again.
i could have woven many lives,
and a far more tapestried world
from the looping life of just this one.

and one will snicker and tsk tsk,
and with a snip, give a snide remark,
tumbling the greater part of a life
to the silent floor:

what a waste.