The Art of Destruction
She sat there waiting, patiently,
Assured of her success,
Indifferent to the certainty
That she would cause duress.
She'd spun a trap so beautiful
It seemed a work of art,
Its gossamer perfection
Like the poison in a dart.
My bird's eye view allotted me
A close-up of the scene,
The window pane the only object
Coming in between.
I missed the grab, but fascinated,
Watched that silken thread
As it wrapped around the victim
Which, cocoon-like, hung there dead.
How heartless certain creatures seem,
But aren't we the same?
Though we lack the spider's ways,
To some, destruction is the aim.
For a bully isn't happy
'Til he savors the defeat
Of his splayed-out prey, but spiders
Merely want a bite to eat.
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