For some, fear comes in form of sharpened sword
Or death by hanging from the fragile throat.
That fear is mine. I hang by silken cord
Belonging to the web a spider wrote.
Eight lengthy legs, eight starved and thin and foul.
She lurks, all thousand eyes, they look on prey.
That devil waits and horn-like pincer’s scowl
As venom bides, her kindness does decay.
I dread in dead of night that lethal bite
To be her victim paralyzed by dread
And spun into her cold embrace in fright.
This evil trap would make me lose my head.
That fearsome creature’s looks I’m sure speak ill
Of murderous intent. If looks could kill…