In the darkest of night,
Spider crawls along beige walls
It weaves webs of vanilla silk as it scurries about,
Leaving faint traces of its existence all over
The isolated room, its doors and windows always closed
Still, the spider lurks inside,
Spinning its trails of lace
As mementos to later be found
But no matter how many strands I find,
There is no arachnid in sight,
Like the creature was never there at all
Silk strings lacing throughout my mind
Are the only remainders of the spider and its journey
© 19 June 2020, by Haley Scully
This poem actually has a bit of relevance in my own life. I’ve seen spider webs pop up all over my room for about two months now, and somehow, I still haven’t found the actual spider leaving them. Ever since I was a child, I’ve been able to detect insects and spiders quite easily; probably because I’m deathly afraid of them. But anyway, it’s driving me nuts that I don’t know where this spider is at. I just know it’s around because I see more and more webs every day. So I decided to write this poem about that feeling, haha. 😄
