She spun her web
carefully
methodically
artistically
entrapping his mind
watching him flail in indecision
pulled between his own instincts
and her suggestions
he tossed amidst the silky threads
that grew tighter
with every inner protest
and she
watching from afar
gazed at her creation
trusting that he would see
the wisdom of her words soon enough
and just as she thought it time to move in
and claim her prizes
her foot became caught in her own snare
crying out for help
she realized too late
the help she sought was also entrapped
rendered useless by her own hands
gazing at one another
across the distance of their predicament
they watched one another
die separate deaths
slowly
painfully
amidst misunderstandings
and a million regrets
he
for not being strong enough
to keep her from her own ruin
she
for not letting go of the reins
and grasping his hands instead
his hands
that now seemed further away then ever
constrained by her own determinations
losing the power they once had ...
feeling her own strength dissipating
as she watched the color drain from his fingertips
she realized all too late
that webs of manipulation
though beautiful in the making
were the most deceptive of all
their delicate lattice work
quickly transforming into iron prisons
that bound both
"victor" and victim
the chasm of betrayal
too broad to afford
them the comfort of one another's solace
as they quietly died inside
too tired to fight
too ashamed of their own participation
in this most shameful demise
they closed their eyes
and dreamed of better days
as she concluded
that webs were best left
to the work of spiders ...
- Michelle McKinney Hammond
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." - Shakespeare
When does it begin? A glance. A smile.
His eyes. His lips. His hands. His touch.
Femininity. Womanly expertise. She feeds his soul and he basks in her attention, well-loved and well-appreciated.
A dangerous dance that ends up costing more that it gains.
To feed the soul, then to stand back and see what comes to fruition.
