intricacy hidden by a vision most foul
an abysmal touch of beauty
eight legs skittering on a string
the spider hovers before me
like a hummingbird reaching for honey

‘shall I become a god and slay it?
is it my nature to kill
what I do not understand?
my kind kill arachnids with no remorse
shall I join in and demolish this being?’

eight legs writhing in the air
until it climb up to it’s lair
it lives another day
there is no logic in killing it anyway
it is just a spider
and it is a vision most foul
but not to me
to me it is beautiful

why do we fear something so small
and run like frail little cowards
from something that would probably die
in disgust,
tasting our bitter knowledge:

that we fear the different….

(c) 2014 allen simpson

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