A trailed safety line hangs,
hazardous, homely.
The spider, desperately clinging to the edge  
of something beautiful lays in fearful pursuit,
for the hand that feeds us, does not hesitate to bite.  

Spinning thread,
a perpetual fight for protection.
Eight legs for eight webs,
“don’t bite off more than you can chew”  
but you,
you were born for this purpose.
A sac surrounded by sticky silk  
that serves to save,
at least until the hunger comes, in its waves.  

The desire to capture a soul,
with your words.
To entangle heart strings in webs that shine,  
rather than scare
and so the spider dares  
to take the plunge into the night.
Starving to succeed,
and blinded by the fall

into his (cob)web.  
His very own masterpiece
humbling his heart,
his art,  
has caught its prey.  

And so you lay,
ensnared by your terrific soul
and the strangers think you are terrifying.