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Tinsel Threads

                 by Odin Roark

Twisted desires spin endlessly,

Neither destination or affixing important.

Like a mountain of miscreant spiders

Struck immobile by anomalous  gluttony

They neither advance or retreat.

Such is our species’ go-to mind set,

Where ravenous cravings blind

Eye and mind alike,

Making feel-good choice

But the reckless flinging of tinsel threads,

Foolishly trusting anchor will be found.

Such folly not even the meager spider would trust,

For it knows of direction,

Structure,

Symmetry,

And connecting,

Have always been necessary for survival.

One might do well to gaze upon the patient arachnid,

Where lessons learned many century’s past

Continue to serve both shelter and nourishment well,

Their web of security coexisting with nature,

Giving little attention to man’s covetous-spangled weaving,

Thriving on its eight-legged-three-hundred-million-year-old wisdom,

Knowing full well man’s tinsel thread pursuits,

Will but wait out the loss of its glitter,

Collapse and become

Tomorrow’s dust,

Taking up residence beside yesterday’s other vanished species.

Meanwhile…