Poetry

In The Realm Of Threads

Life of a spider

The realm of your threads, torn and weaved, trapping life for your own delight. Need to take in order to give an endless hunger that finds no relief.

Dew will settle and heavy the web that make you restless while the silk stands bare.

The sun nor the stars can’t take the sensation away — everlasting loneliness as the curse that makes you bare.

To accept the path, to make peace with destiny. Drinking the wine of scarlet-black erasing the pain of heartache.

Weaving the web of despair trapping life within your realm, musing the beauty of death the cup remained half drunk.

~ Iva