Monday, March 30, 2009

The Weaver

I try to cross the differential crevice I despise
only to be entrapped in the middle of two worlds.
There, in helplessness, the tilt of reality threw me
and the magnificent Earth shifted five degrees.

Now I try to back step to my comfort zone
and find the architecture of my love
was faulty and seemingly untrue to the residents.
Where have the beams gone; the weeds are still.

Now I stare into the awning of the arcing wave
and my slackened limbs freeze me before the fall.
At nine point eight one meters per second squared
the honesty of the drinks comes upon me.

All that’s left of the wooden palace are ashes
that swirl in the chaotic wind of disparity.
I lay in a prism of faults: lies, miscalculations,
infatuations, and the laws of the universe.

Here is the haunting of an unfortunate partnership,
and as low as the breeze can touch the soil I find
the lonely spider who seems to share a similar fate.
Weaving excess webs for one life, and now they’re dispersed.

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