Tinsel Webs Becoming


Twisted desires spin endlessly,
Neither destination or affixing important.
Like a mountain of miscreant spiders
Struck immobile by anomalous gluttony
They neither advance or retreat.

Such is our species’ go-to mindset,
Where ravenous cravings blind
Eye and mind alike,
Making feel-good choice
But the reckless flinging of tinsel threads,
Foolishly trusting anchor will be found.

Such folly not even the meager spider would trust,
For it knows that direction,
Structure,
Symmetry,
And connecting,
Has always been necessary for survival.

One might do well to gaze upon the patient arachnid,
Where lessons learned many centuries past
Continue to serve both shelter and nourishment well,

Thriving on its eight-legged-three-hundred-million-year-old wisdom

And having observed man’s covetous tinsel-spangled weaving,

Finds solace a webbed coexistence with Nature,

As centuries pass patiently by,

Humankind awaits The glitters’ loss and collapse

As it becomes tomorrow’s dust,
Taking up reserved space beneath yesterday’s other vanished species,

All while Nature continues its residence here on earth

And its cyclical pursuit of survival.