Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Spider

A black box inside my head
With corners, angles…mysteries I can’t bring to light alone.
Pests swarm: flies of discontent, gnats of distraction, beetles and wasps of adversity.

Descends the spider.

Out of the shadows, she soundlessly spins-
This is her time, her feast-
Silvered strands form patterns and shapes,
Encloak the encroachers,
Beautify the struggle.

When all is done, she surveys her work,
And with the most elegant bite to my heart
Brings a drop to her fangs- then retreats.

And I sing.

Cobwebs cleared, darkness again,

In the ineffable…

She waits.

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