I pick and pull red threads apart,
And sew myself a scarlet heart.
Powered by my woven mind,
Perceive the schemes across time.
Within chaos we perform the innate,
That-which-makes-us-human trait:
Assign some reason for the random,
Find some meaningful religious fandom,
Add a cause for the effect of common sense,
Draw in the pattern to flatten the tense,
Allocate the words to describe the past,
Rhymed with the concepts so my art may last.