Spiders In A Bathtub Poem by Mark Heathcote

At stints in cramp corners of our heart
One must go at times spider-webbing
To protect at least one sacred part
A panic room at times compelling
Holds us trapped self-immobilised
We roam our own, bitter emptiness
Like spiders in a bathtub, we're despised
We're self-made puppets and thespians
Fools are we who wish to be, drown
At the same moment saved by love,
A love so endless it becomes renown,
A young or old lout headed home drunk.
We crumple up, a drying leaf
Adrift we find comfort in sorrow
Whatever happiness comes is brief
Whatever light we find we borrow
Our destiny is a closed portal
Because our thirsts are never-sated
Our songs are always mournful
Our intentions meant to denigrate.