Silken strands entwined,
A silent singing web that snares,
And may enfold a story so,
The sound one cannot hear but feel,
A siren song that all should dread to feel,
For even on the land the sirens sing
In Dark’s subliminal visceral vision blur,
Where touch alone might safely guide the way.
But touch can be deceiving,
That trembling twitch the nightmare cast,
Fates distended spider spinning,
By hopes and wishes bloated,
Dreamed by countless travellers
Whose strings connected with its web,
The stars its eyes,
Bright beacons in the dark,
Random lures that draw them in,
It phases, branes conjoining,
Passing through,
A twitch, a tremor,
Another wistful soul connected,
It skitters thither,
And in the shadows as our eyes connected,
I thought I saw an eight legged shimmer,
Before you turned away,
And vision faded, light returned.

© Greg Richards

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