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Poem

The window is the forest
And sunlight is the bait
They try to fly outside
But with sight they don't debate
They buzz against the window
And then they start to crawl
Steady with the flypaper
I catch them with the fold 
Feel the fast vibration
The beating of the wings
It will never leave the flypaper
Unless it's body it leaves
A yellow strip of glue
With time a party of flies
Some still buzzing but
Soon to lose their lives
A still but deadly weapon
That some flies try to avoid
I approach the waiting window
Thinking of how they annoyed
Between the window and the paper
I make a small space
A misscalculation in flying
Eventually puts them in the paste
The bait is still waiting 
And so is the trap
The little help I give with satisfaction
I could, but do not clap
Untill the sun goes down
I could play this deadly game
Now I know what spiders know
With the web their claim to fame
The sun the flies attraction
My attraction is the fly
It's a funny fasination
To watch them slowly die
To some a feast of cruelty
And to others a sadistic game
To me it's retribution
But really it's all the same

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