Whoever thought the fly was the prey,

never thought it was a diversion..

The sacrifice of one
                                         for the many...

So many wings flying through threads...

till the spider free falled to the death

                                            of inevitable fate...

Limp effigies of childhood memories,
             still holding so many secrets.
   Woven within tattered tears,
                        now long since evaporated.


Now vacant, an amnesia of fallen promises
           that are retained.
                     But uninhabited threads,
          decompose beneath every dewdrop.
becoming  undone.