~ That Delicate Web ~
Awakened, I was
The memory keen
A story of epic proportions
Just what had I seen?
From spirit to spirit
As conversations go
A web of intricate gossamer
Hidden agendas, doubt, and fear to show?
A winding path, a sparkling stream
Music and dance
What is left of that dance of Spring?
Within that web of gossamer thread
A pattern begins to show
Around a tightly built center
Spreading ever farther, weaving chaos and dread.
Of course creatures of the earth
Inhabit such as this
Some are victims, some awaiting death –
Some are creatures of habit, some waiting for breath.
Within the span of such a construction
Mice and men, as creatures go
Surround themselves with what they know
Or seem to know, and embrace desolation.
Of mice, they love the maze
Of men, they plod on their way
Forgetting the two of them
The price they will have to pay.
Of observation and fact
A deep romance
Perception often leads away
To the center of the maze.
OH! to comfort and joy
When in balance they live
To mark the days of aloneness
With the exchange of touch and roses!
When one can see, tho’ the other blind:
Can the moment in the maze
The thorn of the Rose
Be understood in kind?
And if a web be built with intention
What, pray tell, is the source of it
This intricate construction
Or obsession be?
Five nights in morning twilight
Did this vision come to me
Wrapped in lacy silk, fingers in her hair
A smile…an emerald sea.
Behind that smile, that savory scent
Do lines of intricate fashion
Beckon forth to me –
Is it call, or is it command?
Is feeling pain, part of the maze
Or is this simply fantasy –
A delusion of the heart
A hollow rhapsody?
One would be remiss, if one more
Creature was left out
But one who mentions spiders
Is often looking in, standing on a distant shore.
One sees the beauty and chaos
Clear it seems to be
But closer one becomes to linen and gossamer
The sooner they are undone.
In waking moments like these
Magick is deep and rich
The air in eddying currents race
The memory of this fashion, itself a shadow and dream.
To mark one’s path, for the two
Not the One
Is to bridge this intricate thread
With weaving and retrieving; a work well done.
No one knows the spiders intentions
Perhaps not even Her
So long and dark, her fear has run
Alone in a web of great despair.
Can beauty and fear remain a’bed
Alongside the ever-present dread –
Of wanting to be tied and bound
A fire in her head?
With all these creatures, alive or dead
Surrounding the essence in her head
Tho’ she tries in vain to passionate embrace
The web is working in her bed (head?).
A fathers call, a lover song
A gentle hand upon her face
Reminds her of a better time –
If only the web, its gossamer line, decline!
A maze and web, continues unabated
Diversions and victims seem to set the pace
There is no confrontation or battle within the web
Only more and more, this delicate space.
Awakened I was, with Sun and silk
Of Autumn in her hair
A maze built for me
(Pain sets me free?)
In the twilight it fades, this sense of purpose and destiny.
The web is built without hands
Or so it daily seems
Yet every day, it grows and grows
Of mice and men, of creatures and intentions
(Or so the story goes…)
Tales like this, the ending often known
To move from maze and web
To be free once again
Is to set fire to our bed!
Who can really know such intricate and
This unknown need, this race not run –
Who can tell…when the Web is done?