Poem Ii

The way a loner examines this here world Is in relation to but not involved or absorbed Within the cobweb’s gentle flimsy hold Which may seem nothing, but to players are of gold. I thought I was no easy butterfly, Avoiding cunningly the songs and other various crap Of the fancy of the damsels and the distress of it all, For the strongest webs set down in paper words I thought to render real ones insecure, unfit. But you have taught me, violently Through the strings extending from your fingers to mine tips That tales will spin themselves, no matter how thin And the more obscure to the eye, the more happiness is slim. So here I am in dearest quietest suffering With love coursing through my veins and heart a-fluttering, Willingly or not, I cannot tell, trapped in your embrace, Thinking that things are finally starting to make sense, Feeling real warmth for once, but with no sense of gratitude, Understanding love and wishing that I didn’t, Belated, befuddled, brokenhearted, wondering where it all began.