For the Greater Fable

 
They are black lines
Lumbering
Toward certain oblivion

Unaware of their purpose
Of the truth they bear
Within their every morsel

They march onward
Driven
By the edge
Of a madman’s quill

Sewing shut
The greater fable
Laboring, for the close
Of worlds carefully spun

Black lines
Cannot waver
If steady hands
Lead them on