poet&writer

With 8 legs,

Webbing away,

Thousands of threads,

Yes,

Thousands and thousands,

With the knowledge of how each dances.

Size doesn’t matter,

The mind,

Yes,

For knowing is owning,

Owning everything.

If a tiny spider can web away,

Thousands and thousands of webs,

A man can be defeated by a tiny,

Vulnerable, thing.

Does that not make you laugh?

Or do you hold it back,

So much it starts to hurt,

And claw at your throat,

Breathing becomes a difficult task,

Because that spider knows,

How adorable ordinary people are.

That spider could murder the whole of humanity,

Become king,

The key in the possession,

Of its tiny little legs,

And oh,

How beautiful he would look,

WIth a crown as he sits at the nook,

Of the web he created,

Thousands,

Everytime I close my eyes,

I can feel your warmth,

Your arms wrapped around me,

I feel safe,

And happy,

Just lying with you,

Even if I know that,

Deep down,

It isn't real.

I can envision you in front of me so well,

I can live in my own fantasy,

But it's a lake that in which I dont know how to swim,

So I can't sleep it in,

I can't dwell in it,

I can't live in it,

Not beneath the depths of your beauty.

Your angelic voice rings in my ears,

A sweet melody I cannot help but succumb to,

The edges of my lips twitch,

Threatening to break out into what I know as a terrifying smile.

I cannot let them know how much you mean to me,

How much you matter in my head,

For I know it will be spat and laughed upon,

The idea of living in a fantasy for someone who has never known me,

Who I have never known.

Well, darling,

I that am lost.

A pounding travelled through my entire body,

The barking resonated in my ears,

The sweet sound,

As if it a melody,

Oh how I missed it.

Oh who will find me?

Time is anything but eternal,

For all, we have a limit,

And I was yet to linger on the thought,

A dead body to dread.

Deep down below, the old beech tree.

My knees hit the ground,

Pain,

A feeling I couldn’t understand,

My fingernails filled with mud and grass,

As I dug,

And dug,

And dug.

Help succour me now,

The East winds blow.

Why such funny names were given us,

Yet just that one had meaning,

An East wind of terror,

Haunting me forever.

16 by 16,

Brother, and under we go.

I saw a hint of red at my fingers,

They were throbbing,

But again I asked myself,

The sound of living, breathing, life, filled my head,

Disrupting my thoughts,

But what were they?

Memory is a funny thing sometimes.

Gravity whispered in my ear,

Dragging me down with a soft melody that would keep me at ease,

The cold air bit at me,

The pain numbed within the flesh of me.

My eyes watched the starry night sky with inexplicable interest,

Beautiful,

No longer a word I could use,

Not with what I had become,

Feeling was unreachable,

Slipped from the grasp of my fingertips long ago.

Imagining was all for the better,

My eyes closed as I formed what I thought was closest to a smile,

But the harsh reality wouldn’t let me,

For it was only a matter of time before I felt the cold hard concrete of the floor.

I nearly found myself humming along to the siren’s melody,

Nearly swayed by the calmness of it.

The voice screamed, destroying my split-second like peace,

Making me realize where I was,

Making me realize I was too late,

As the sound of life drew closer,

The voice was louder than ever,

‘It’s never the fall that kills you,