The Spiders Web
The evening coming on,
its slow creep in the calm air,
holding onto the days last warmth
left by a departing sun.
I sit and take it in, feel
its familiar moods. First,
a peace in the arms
of a moment, a soft sink
into the now. Then a twist
of sadness in having to let
something pleasant go,
dragging behind it
the thought of another day
closer to the final.
Above me, a spider spins
its web. I can almost feel
the sticky threads pull tight
across my mind,
each circuit made to knit
this masterpiece in space
sends a tremor along a nerve
and limb. I imagine me
the maker.
How the night would be
sprung on a trigger, set
to snare a careless wing
or a wandering bug, bound
tight in an instant to feed
a hunger. To live life
like that - the world, time
held on the end
of a primed nerve,
the slightest movement
sending the soul off
into a spasm.
But then, the evening chill
coming in, the ache
of old bones,
nerves gone numb.
My mind still hanging onto
the taut threads as I go.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
