A Spider’s Wisdom

Filed Under: Poetry, Literature.

Walking through a corridor of subdued static, a warm hand
   reaching into a corner of the universe -
      mentalistic.

The morning dew (hiding in the shadow of sunrise) dots forth along wisps of fine silk:

   strength in an accompanying chain of unduloids. Each morning
woven by a wisdom. Icicles spiral into the Earth.

   ”Drip, drip, drip” - she whispers to me. Captivating beauty.

   No longer do I wish to be torn away.

I was once told that history’s passage is cyclical. Each evening, the webs we weave through wisdom and nature dissolve, dot a lighted path anew, cast into creative birth.

These fine strands (between you and me) span our lives -
   lifted into the crux of eventuality

whose disruptions are exhilarating, I am led to believe.

   Static -
   a constant confusion -
   permeates through the pores of her skin

Icicles return to the earth. Webs are dismantled. We are left to grasp hold a wisdom revolving endlessly. My patience is slipping. My eyes grow tired. How do I know that she will continue to weave her webs each morning? How do I know that her warm hands will reach again into a cold solitude?

If I reach out to her, will she find me?

Published: 4 years, 11 months ago