Between the pages of a forgotten book,
A spider spun from ink and yellowed lace;
Does not depend on any mortal look,
But feeds upon the lines of time and space.
She catches secrets in a silken net,
Of kings who fell before their crowns were made;
A debt of memory and dark regret,
That flickers in the library’s deep shade.
The scholar reaches for a dusty spine,
And feels the tickle of a thousand legs;
His thoughts begin to tangle and entwine,
Like wine poured out into the dregs.
He vanishes into the written word,
The loudest scream that no one ever heard.
No comments:
Post a Comment