
A delicate web
woven from dreams
catching words
and promises
on its sticky threads
and I wonder
which the spider worries about more-
the silk spun from its own body
or the holes
left by the very nature
of webs.

A delicate web
woven from dreams
catching words
and promises
on its sticky threads
and I wonder
which the spider worries about more-
the silk spun from its own body
or the holes
left by the very nature
of webs.
Posted in Authenticity, Life, Love, Poetry, Writing, epiphany | Tags: Life, loss, Love, working through things