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tread Sep 2012
The salted air elates a feeling of real real.
And by real real, I mean the realist real there is. 

Child like intuition and loss in present ecstasy
Underlying a layered and angsted mind.

I loved a psychopath as a best friend
But finally 
His confusion clawed at my chakras with convoluted and displaced passion 
But on Protection Island 
I feel
Protected.

Whether the next sunrise meets me through the dingy drapes of a budget hostel, awash in a strange and urban melancholy wrapped warmly on all sides
Or on a windy beach with the blue flow of sparkled wash and distant cloud capped peaks and Dover-beacon ferries which remind me of novelty globes and my father
The buzz of early morning travel as a child

I will be fine.

To lighten my load I hid The Dhamapada and St. Francis of Assisi in the hopes and faith that they would be left in peace blanketed in underbrush 
Being peacefully caressed by ocean wind and the beautifully dilapidated wood-house 
The protectors warm grin of welcome.

I want to feel okay again
And I feel like okay is finally waking up from her peaceful slumber 
Returning from vacation to remind and comfort my unassured and pummeled mind
Like a lover returning from a followed dream

A long, warm embrace which says it all
No words for I love you
Just a feeling and oneness as old as the world itself.
I contemplate an exit
So sound and so swift
It causes no-one pain
A bloodless cauterisation
Evaporation
Only of words,
Fluttering, migrating
Like an anxious flock of birds
Messages composed but never sent
Comments that I angsted over,
Always truly meant.
I contemplate an exit
my flightpath
And my final destination.
I contemplate
fleeing
I'm a coward,
I'm a freak.
Feeling dark, and overwhelmed by unhelpful, exhausting dreams.
Archaesus Jan 2018
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.

— The End —