Star BG Nov 2018
They call me a spider-like poet
spinning a web of poetic threads.
Each golden fiber becomes a phase.
Each finger like spinneret weaves
gracefully cross keyboard floor.

They call me a spider-like poet.
Each poem from hub of heart.
Each woven vision calls to readers eyes.
But worry not, my creative lattice of poem
will not end your life.
Just get you stuck for a while
as you sway inside poetic song.
Inspired by Cisco James Haiku Fatal Traps Thanks
Amy Duckworth Oct 2018
We are like spiders making our own web we call home;
That web is one of life.
If our web is destoried,
We get to build it again;
But some are unfortunate and are destroyed with it.
Life is like a web,
And we are the spiders spinning it.
Theshygirl Oct 2018
Everything’s spinning
The silk wrapped around me gets thicker
Squeezing me
Until I can’t breathe
I gasp and beg for breath
But the cocoon only grows tighter
Like my begging and crying
Means absolutely nothing.
Idk what I was going for...
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
The spider on the wall,
in the web of a fantasy,
spinning dreams of guile.
Spider is the black hole of my solar system –
a monstrous mass ready to warp me
in its delusion.

Light surpassed
darkened thoughts of deceit
like a flitting meteor.
On its many unseen wings
it sails faster than the meteor.

Light crashed into the spider
dozing in the web of hallucination.
Its barbed hairy legs
singed in the boiling bubble of light.

The light’s swift hands
pulled me out of the black hole,
diffused in me
it's springs of glory.
I became light’s soulmate
to birth more lights
to tame the black holes
of my solar system.
Morning sun rises, here he comes
All night I have waited
Waiting for him to wake from his slumber

He is old, frail in need of company
She left him for a place in the clouds
Never a smile only a frown

I long to say good day
Its lonely on the web
Waiting to snare a bug
On the silken strands I call home

He shuffles his feet along the rug
I watch it all high upon the ceiling
Wishing for a glance upon my web

He never see's me
I see him with all eight eyes
Mr Mccoy, That's what I call him

He makes a cup of tea
I stretch a few legs hoping he will notice
The kettle boils, steam burns my feet
I scuttle to the top as beads form
Like raindrops on silver strings

His tender eyes peer out glass panes
Watching his crop, Old Mr Mccoy
Deep lines mark his face, thoughts of her mark his mind

Eight legs, no way to hug
If only he would see a friend in me

A picture of her, a tear shed
I spin my web, lowering
Closer and closer to his head

"Mr Mccoy ill be your friend!"
No words can I make to fall on death ears
He takes his tea and leaves me be

Tomorrow he might look up
Ill be ready, waiting on my web.
A little story of a spider who just wants a friend.
Dan Beyer Aug 2018
wee spinning spider
her webbing the line of time
laced with dew like pearls
the world magnified in spheres
I am caught in the beauty
Pyrrha Aug 2018
I liquidate my words with love
As I drink and dine with you
To poison you with my perfect drug
The only stable cure for a world of webs
While you may be caught in mine
I'm no spider but a simple butterfly
Meant to drink the nectar bleeding from your genuinity
I'm writing this at 3 am and I have stayed up till 5am every night this whole month. I can't tell if my words are ready or if i'm delusional from exhaustion.
Kathryn Irene Aug 2018
You loved me
just like the
Singing melodies
and soft
spoken words
Woo me and
me with hate
into your
web of
lies and

- SkullsNBones
From my instagram
Nathalie Aug 2018
"In your web sleeps all the memories of your heart. How is your web strengthened every day by the myriad of thoughts and beliefs that flirt at the edge of your consciousness. What are the stories from which you draw your strength, humility, joy and compassion. The whole of your heart is that by which your world becomes colored in hues of your own emotions and dreams."

Maxim Keyfman Jul 2018
eludes time slips away
as if a snake were like a piano
like stars outside the window
like lonely oak
time slips away from me

and what is time and what is a day
what does it mean to slip away
what does it mean a snake and piano
what does such a star mean
and what is true solitude

eludes time eludes
disappears disappears like a spider's thread
as its core as its web
As his house is abandoned and new
built in february onward

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