Caught on the edge of the forest, spider stood quite still this solitary stance imprisoning her will. Tired of her spinning, she looked down upon her twine, it twisted around her eight black legs lacking the lustre and shine. Her head it turned, towards the breath from behind, the wolf stood there... Sign in to see full entry.
tales from the murky splurge:
By spiderfly - About Me - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry
About this Blog
Poetry is about expression of thought. Sometimes the best work is the kind of stuff that just leaps up from within our soul. I write a lot about the murky splurge...This defines a place where we are are given the freedom to bare our souls in word but understand it is between the lines where most truth resides, In a world which has an abundance of love for all to share there is a whirlwind stirring. these words come out of a storm, but reader of my blog, please see although we write about many things, we may just mean another...well that is what the villagers said..... have fun.