Threading the Needle

In the eye of a needle greatness lies

and a thread of luck can easily snap

even when pushed through, the knot never ties

but I will try my best to suit that gap.

I’m threading my way to fixing my life

until the thread transforms into a snake

biting at my fingers with troubles rife

what kind of canvas can this artist make?

The snake wraps around my chest and smirks up;

does it stitch the pain or asphyxiate?

Whilst the artist cleans his brush in a cup

on the luring cobra’s glare I fixate.

The needles sting hides it’s black, yellow stripes

yet I see past its promising façade

of small chance of great prospects that it hypes

that if false would leave me stung, flawed, and scarred.

So do I, the snake and the wasp befriend

and thread my way to a canvas success

or do I avoid it’s sharp painful end

and find a new blank canvas to possess?

Within the eye of a needle lies fear

and a thread of luck can easily bite

the stinging of my mind shows it is clear;

embracing success is painfully right.