The Silent Resolution of the Knot

It is born from intent, from a hurried hand,
a curve of thread, an embrace unasked for.
A silent promise, a hidden demand,
a fixed point where the journey was before.
It knows no history, has no ancient keep,
only the moment when the force held it deep.

Then, without tremor, without sigh or lament,
under the mute weight of unknown strain,
begins its slow dance, a completion intent,
fiber on fiber, the most devoted chain.
It seeks no glory, nor an ephemeral sign,
but the full essence of its own design.

It grows more solid, a discreet enclosure,
a silent witness to farewells and ties.
A small wall against wild escape’s lure,
a mute seal among the most fragile lies.
A blind heart that knows no oblivion’s grace,
upon its fate, immobile, in place.

And while the world around it unravels and fades,
it persists, with a stubborn belief.
A little fortress, which nothing ever degrades,
a blind point that asks for no relief.
Only in the clean cut is its power found,
returning thread to where it was bound.