Poetry

He has seen it before, the lurker, the crawler, sitting atop its web in shadows. A glisten from his corner, calling his name. What is his name? His arm extends. He can’t reach it. He can’t move. The spider draws near. The sparkle dims as the light tunnels, tighter and tighter. The legs slowly crawl,…

Old, but barely touched, I can still hear their songs.  Songs of praise, songs of anguish, they long  Longing for resurrection in the cool summer air  Longing for my grip to bear  Mysteries within, legends forgotten, waiting and foretold  Creased, bound and placed in a shrine, threefold  They hum in the distance alone without sound …