Workers For The Kingdom

a-spider-web

(source)

How she danced upon resistance across the silken threads,
Lighter than a touch of air on downy feathered heads,
Gliding as a skater while ravelling her tales,
Doomed by pride, but reconciled, to weaving as she sails.

Circumnavigation from the centre to a ledge,
Round again, rotating, with a pivot, to the edge,
Godliness decreed it so, to scuttle, words her theft,
Alas, Arachne’s fall from grace continues until death.

Delicately balanced as she looms and pirouettes,
Vestigial veracity in the web she weaves, and yet,
Fine interlace, in gaps of truth, reveals her potency,
In need, she purloins captives, with her poison sets them free.

Spinneret fandangoes, unknotted in prowess,
Gossamer to gild the lines, the fabric of her dress,
Fascination’s failte, with her welcome, bids you come,
Fealty to the widow, to her mourning, now succumb.

Denigrated damsel by belittled deity,
Resuscitated for her skill, the likes of you and me,
Workers for the kingdom, in the balance as we step,
Tailors to the weavers to repay a single debt.

 

By Silken Threads

Unrivalled, the spinner,

intent on the task,

exuding,

controlling the yarn,

Four to the left,

four to the right,

light foosteps,

spinneret charm.

Tangled the cables,

coiled for effect,

cushioned to nest,

to ensnare,

Sonar, so plucked,

message relayed,

advancement of mate

with a dare.

Captvity calls,

tightened the threads,

matured in

hungering thirst,

Escape impossible,

tho’ eyes all around,

serviced, betrayed

by bloodlust.

Filigree’d netting,

coating of tack,

a lick and a spit,

paint the web,

Ravelled in silk,

by finest cord bound,

anaesthetised, numbed,

not yet dead.