Treasure Island

Richard Allen Beevor

(23 March 1949 / London)

The Spider and I


As I reclined one happy day,
on a hill both old and wise,
the sun came down close to my face,
and seemed to spin within my eyes,
its rotation grew rapid, filling up my brain,
my chest began to heave,
solar rays of intense heat pierced my heart,
my lungs had ceased to breathe.
In the ensuing storm my legs shook violently
and my arms began to flail,
the sun merged with my body,
what little I could resist was all to no avail.

Within one hour I became a torso torn open,
limbs dismembered by sunlight'
I lay on a hill and considered
how to leave while in this plight.
When into my dismantled remains
crept there a spider black and yellow,
a great hairy beast some six inches wide,
an extremely gruesome fellow,
he poked and prodded softer parts of my body,
going where ever his whim
and there he soaked and swam in blood
licking that which ran over him,
after this he ate all and more,
that his tiny mouth could devour,
then in contentment of his repast
lay to sleep on my heart for an hour.

Now I am not an evil man
and did not begrudge him a place to lay his head,
indeed I considered that I would probably
make a very comfortable bed.

In an hour from deep slumber
the spider woke fresh and filled,
he had dreamed a dream of new homes
and at once set out to build,
thread by thread he weaved a web
about each part of my body (working in all weather)
on and on he spun until his net
joined every part of me once again together,
I became whole again and stood to see the world
my face bathed in clean fresh air,
when I felt a strange crawling feeling
in my belly and wondered,

'What's there! '

But of course I knew this the spider had to be,
I felt sorry for him, his plight inside my insides
but fair is fair,
He! had eaten parts of me.

Submitted: Sunday, April 20, 2014

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Topic(s): fantasy

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