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.