Oh how wicked the beauty
of a spiders lair-
captivating the dew
caught upon her snare.
The moth that is wrapped
now flutters in fright
sought in the dark
now searches for light.
Entranced are we
gossamer truth and lies
as she suckles the blood
who hears the moth cry?
The splendor is wicked
upon the net we weave
Cobwebs in our head
stay, no reprieve.
Wind rushes upon the frailty
yet the knot holds fast,
the mesh we create
to future, from past.
The Labyrinth remains
our hearts still wrapped
as the moth that is glued
to the spider clings trapped.
Yet, we grapple each thought
till’ it creates a net of our lives
each strand leaving wonder
distance between sighs.
Like a leaf that is captured
as it danced in the breeze
the thread becomes tangled
to become
the web we weave.
Originally Posted On Site: 2008-01-24 07:11:49
Last Login: 10.14.08
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