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