x

Narcissistic -
Empathetic;
Automatic
Narcoleptic:

To the dreamers
Divine deceivers
A Sublime message,
The faith's receiver'
Understanding lonesome
Psychic sleepers;
The Destroyers'
Disguised Defeater.

Naturalistic,
Apathetic -
Neolithic?
Unrealistic.

x

Once again her ashen crust cleaves , for its once aught to be sought.
In thou curiosity, heft the crude mud, brief a dawn to
the gravity of an intricate craft,
Where thee defy and 'tis a waking howl
Where a flock betrays its trace, flees behind a fowl.
Fowl, shaped upon by the call,
Leads to a world of faux strays,
Where the bodies sway under the moon
But sleeps upon the day.
Nocturnal breaths intertwine around,
Welcoming them into a warm embrace:
Where it is born 'dreamily' to eternally haze.
In no time, the march creates a howl too
That obeys the dance of calamity,
But her refusal hides under a tongue
For it is a refuge, kept under the safety.
After all, it's matriarchy, crumbling a feet of the tantrum,
The wind guffaws, sways to the luminous olive trees;
Where a nest of refugees crawl upon,
Chirping freely to the motion of adversary,
to a moment of cleft.
Thus, it's the mother nature that heaves above all
As if blowing a floral and once again, livid breath.
In its deed, she incessantly cries fugues,
As if a virtuoso morphed upon the death.
Upon lulling the sweet mortality into clay,
Then it strolls around, surreptitiously,the plenitudes of ****** heft,
then heading hither a flaw;
When the day and night sleeps, until the rituals nudges, an absolute,
No sense.

I am small.
I am blind.
I am weak.
I am high
Upon this unsteady branch,
Waving, blowing wind beset,
I let out the finest strand
And find another on which to rest.
I am cold.
I am frail.
I am bold,
And I sail
In gust of wind
I set forth a seam
Another end
Another thread, silvered gleam.
Oh, that I were wise.
Were I mighty,
Fast, great, sublime,
I would rightly
Take up place upon this world.
I would weave a bridge, a tower
Or the veil of finest silks unfurled,
But were I more than I am offered.
But I spin.
I bind,
I loose,
I tie
Upon the waving branches,
Trunks and limbs within their leaves,
Or on the roofs and walks of man
From their windows and their eaves:
I spin,
I tie,
I wait,
I see.
I see by the slightest hint
That one has tread upon my home
And this ephemeral web, moon glint,
Shows wherefore this masterpiece is owned
This net,
This snare,
Beget
By effort fair
Behold! I am hunter, slayer, Death is my bite!
Frail in form but cunning, cruel
Those who before stood stop in their might
Now now within my ethereal tomb!
I weave!
I bind!
I reave!
I tie!
Behold, what patience brought low!
Behold, my toiled gains!
Look, see what my angsted toils show!
For the Spider is my name.