The Spider Arachnid

Covered in the jungles evergreen thickets, beneath Stones and mortars refuge lays an old Mayan crypt, And on it is written an ancient curse, dare not enter Mortal men, or forsake thy living soul, as tributes Offering at the altar, of the Arachnid Queen. At midnight's twilight hour, under the moon's elliptical Shroud of illusions, is exposed isolation's Forbidden tomb of evil. As torches spontaneously combust, bursting forth Into flame, slowly the grave stone rolls backwards, Releasing the cold and damp air from within. Emerging from her unholy tomb, this spider demon, Inhales the crisp night air at last. A creature is she the Arachnid Queen, of devils Spawning between her father of darkness, And a fallen angel of spiritual light. Weep do the cherubs of heaven, at her birthing's ritual, for One of their own was so sacrificed, shackled and chained, Treated as if an animal of disdain, the Arachnid Queen, Clawed her way forth, from her mother’s maternal womb. As a gifts prize from the dark lord, unto his child Born from the darker side, is the deadly touch of death itself. To kill without mercy, with accuracy's pin point efficiency, For she bares no heart or souls pity. A phantom of mist is she, without definitions form, slowly She crosses under the forest canopy, and one by one the Veils of webbing descend, upon her from above. As her Minion guardians do weave, each delicate sheath's covering. Revealing a skeletal shape beneath, exposing a beast of Monstrous proportions, behold her eight legs appendages Of a spider. But above is beauty personified, shimmering as a goddess Of ebony black, with eyes the color of sea foam, and red Flaming tresses that blow freely in the flowing breeze. With the voice of an angel, she so sings ever sweetly, This is the gift of her fallen mother, to entice the lustful Hunger within all men, to devastations final end. Waving her teasing finger at them, come hither My love sick fellow and I'll mend your broken heart, And so do they come, unto the Arachnid Queen. Entering her webbing's layer, she takes her crimson Throne of the dammed, laughing with pleasures sheer Delight, for tonight she shall feast upon the flesh and blood, Of living men, and revel in their screams of pain. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN