Truer than True

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ble.</i></p><p id="863d">A dog was hit by a car today, not far from my house, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and that’s what this piece is about.</p><p id="d9b2">I sit on my deck in the dark tonight, haunted by the sound of squealing brakes and the thud of impact replaying in my head, the volume magnified by the silence of the spider that sits within its web.</p><p id="7d1a">The little girl who loved that dog was at school at the time of the accident. How do you tell a nine-year-old that sometimes life is cruel?</p><p id="3240">I focus on the web, hoping to forget the day while I pray that no fly will meet its end tonight, not on my watch. One death is enough for one day.</p><p id="06ce"><i>Nature has its hungers, and if not one then another must suffer.</i></p><p id="145d"><i>(But that doesn’t explain a hit and run)</i></p><p id="c867">I watch as the spider moves, not far, just an inch or two, pe

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rhaps unnerved by my attention.</p><p id="43b6">“It’s alright,” I say, “that space belongs to you, my friend.”</p><p id="7318">So quickly life can come to an end, and tonight that seems truer than true.</p><p id="49ee">-</p><p id="4514">© 2023 Randall Snyder</p><h2 id="eda3">Join The Power of Poetry. 💚 Anthology 5.5K+ / The Resilient Power</h2><div id="05b6" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-power-of-poetry-3d8dfd2beecc"> <div> <div> <h2>The Power of Poetry</h2> <div><h3>how to submit? [update September 2023]</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*OfAwmC7ROJ7Why-jpZe6FQ.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Truer than True

Tonight

Photo: © Randall Snyder

At the corner of the covered deck, the spider built its web, a mastery of silken workmanship, but that’s not what this piece is about.

Within its sacred composition of poetic glimmering strands, upon each was written a lyrical line scribed by a lonely writer’s pen, if only you could see it, but that’s not what this piece is about.

In admiration I gaze at its wondrous spirals and gawk with fascination, a creation worthy of bragging rights despite its truth as a woven deathtrap, hell to any fly, but that’s not what this piece is about.

Oh spider, oh spider, what a weaver of wonder you are, and yet so humble.

A dog was hit by a car today, not far from my house, and I can’t stop thinking about it, and that’s what this piece is about.

I sit on my deck in the dark tonight, haunted by the sound of squealing brakes and the thud of impact replaying in my head, the volume magnified by the silence of the spider that sits within its web.

The little girl who loved that dog was at school at the time of the accident. How do you tell a nine-year-old that sometimes life is cruel?

I focus on the web, hoping to forget the day while I pray that no fly will meet its end tonight, not on my watch. One death is enough for one day.

Nature has its hungers, and if not one then another must suffer.

(But that doesn’t explain a hit and run)

I watch as the spider moves, not far, just an inch or two, perhaps unnerved by my attention.

“It’s alright,” I say, “that space belongs to you, my friend.”

So quickly life can come to an end, and tonight that seems truer than true.