This poem is odd for me, cuz I usually write about people and luuuuuuuv, or at least something fantasy-related. This is like, revolutionary for me. Sorry it's so long, and sorry it doesn't rhyme… but I felt like it was time for a remix. I think this may have been written to cure a hint of a certain phobia of mine…

As a tear falls
So the thread weaves
Down and down into darkness
Looping up and over
Around and below and above
Weaving and spinning until
There's nothing left to improve.

Hours pass

The hourglass sand dripping
Like the thin silken ropes
Over any obstacle
Outlining a flame
Avoiding a blow.

Ducking and rising and turning
In a small dance
A graceful dance
Of eons
Performed since the beginning
Of this thing we call Time
Speaking of water's flow
The faults of vanity
Love and honor
Duty and fault
Tripping and falling
With weariness.

Threads are snapped by
Careless movements of the weaver
And are repaired better
More carefully than they were first made.

The sun dances and sends its own threads
Of a warm, golden radiance
Of life and
Gentlest embraces
Racing over hills and mountains
Chasing night's demons away
To their darkest realms.

And it falls upon one small,
Old and lonely creature
Waiting patiently after her nightly work.
With this light comes sustenance
But her great work will be damaged
In the struggle for survival
And life in a harsh world.

She will rebuild over and over
Recrafting, redefining delicate lines
Of an intricate weave
But this morning, she may rest
Until her nectar of life appears.
Dewdrops play across silver threads
Of steel.

Misery and repetition and loneliness
But the weaver does not mind.
At nightfall, she begins her work
Repairs yet again
For this is the story
And life
Of the spider spinning her web.

Man, sucks to be a spider.

-Lhea c'nAstra ilMara deBuseno,

Rose's Thorns and Lightning's Bane,

The Lady Lily of Legend