Tinsel Threads


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 choices
While the reckless flinging of tinsel threads,
Foolishly trusts anchor will be found.

Such folly not even the meager spider would trust,
For it knows of direction,
Structure,
Symmetry,
And connecting,
As necessary principals for survival.

One might do well to gaze upon the patient arachnid,
Where lessons learned many century’s past
Continue to serve both shelter and nourishment well,
Their web of security coexisting with nature,
Thriving on its eight-legged-three-hundred-million-year-old wisdom,
Knowing full well Man’s tinsel thread pursuits
Will succumb to the loss of its glitter,
Collapse and become tomorrow’s dust,
Taking up residence beside yesterday’s other vanished species,
While history’s eight-tiny-feet-populace continues undaunted.