‘Spider’ (a poem)




Time is like a spider

that wanders, out of sight.

Flickering and inconsistent,

inviting shadows to breed.


We soft, unmoulded children

all eyes, fists and elbows

try to capture it, but

manage only to cage ourselves.


To know its form is to step

outside, see its shape,

to allow Patience to catch

its breath, and die.


We forever envy the

lost knowledge, creeping

through the powdery fingers

of the infinite dead.


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