Mark Heathcote

Gold Star - 10,518 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

An Arachnid’s Meal - Poem by Mark Heathcote

Poets are like woodlice
Ruminating away at life!
What they build is a place
For air; that abridged space
For a spider's snare!

Poets are like damselflies’
Flitting here - then there!
The world is dammed,
Petrified into, living stone.
The only thing left, now, is
His, words an arachnid’s meal.

Every bone sucked morrow
Worn out cartilage!
Is left out here on display,
Every mouth licked morsel.
With its 90° degree—death
Kill swing, cogitates its end.

Topic(s) of this poem: poem

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, June 6, 2013

Poem Edited: Monday, March 24, 2014

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