Monday, 26 October 2020

 Spider


She hangs

suspended,

like a puppet

dancing

to the tune

of the wind.

Blown this way,

blown that,

buffeted,

but only briefly

before she takes control

like the mistress puppeteer

she is

powerful

free

to spin her silk

to weave her web

as she wills.

Or so she thinks.

But it’s an illusion.

She’s trapped.

Trapped 

and wrapped 

by her dna

as securely

as any fly,

her patterns

pre-ordained

pre-programmed

destined 

to be repeated 

millennia 

after millennia

in her genes.



https://issuu.com/freshwaterliteraryjournal/docs/2020journalmockup-2



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