Joy Pelobello Gensaya

I held the thread of life
When breath I grasped
Two decades past.

I stitched the needle of beauty
To patterns of wisdom and love,
Mixed with the colors of sorrow and mirth.

By my choices I proclaimed:
My design was mine alone,
shared to no one, not even God.

Until the colorless hue I saw,
No pattern, no design,
Only nothingness exemplified.

I looked up from the stitches
And saw the hand that held the thread:
It was God's.

Yes.
God was the weaver
And I was only the loom.