Unlit Poem by Nick Patrick

As the Earthy spider of decay
Buries its face in the morning wind
The damning moon has nothing to say
And the clouds to the land are pinned
What emerged from limping fate?
But pitiful ashes black like the tar
Left from a once frivolous state
That had the beauty of a sitar
Cast unto an abyss of fortitude
And for years and years it stayed
Constricted in the vice of reflection
So many eggs the spider had laid
Beauty stayed still, in its perfection
Until it was devoured by the father of sand
His bidding accomplished in the silk nets
Or was it the sickle instead the hand?