The Spider

I intend to inspire the intellectual spire to expand,
Like the web being splayed by the spider,
As daily I was the innocent spirit that soared freely
in my solace scented sky,
The scent of roses and rain,
that scavenges for sovereignty.

But recently, dishonesty was the rope that bound my feet to the ground
And once I cut him in half,
I was free
And I heard a voice
and his voice alone was poetry.

I was the solitarty teacher in search for my independence
when out of a slip of destiny, or perhaps of chance,
My life scenario switched to possibility,
Like the sanguine sower spreading the sumptuous seeds,
that stimulate the bare earth,
he plans to simulate during a passion season: spring;
Like a smiling and sacred situation made of silk and silver.

But, how she hesitates to shed her armor about her trust,
So she'll hold it tighter about herself as she standsC
stiff and still,
observing the movements of uncertainty.

Scavenger, now turned to skeptic,
wants to be secure, and only slighty knows that skill.
But she knows for certain that trust will only come
slowly.
And if love is speech, she is stuttering---
Her hesitance from a bitter taste in the past.

Consistantly, trust became possiblity
and the heart grew redder
and the sour spice diminished from my tongue.

His voice alone is poetry
and inspires the webs to expand
So that the sceptic is now saved.

But now the voice, too, has faded
and the heart pales once again
because the trustworthy possibility was
incompatible with the over inspired spider
who built her learned web too wide
and his voice whose was poetry alone,
had weaved a web too small.

And, so, again, she set her feet free
in search for sovereignty.

(And in the end,
I see shadows of roses
that kiss my fingertips
on the white wall.)