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A Death MAG
April 29, 2009
The water swirls
It makes me choke.
It fills my lungs
Like black hot smoke.
The porcelain white
Is all I see.
Why am I so hated?
Why don't they let me be?
I do no harm,
No intentional pain.
I build my webs,
I flee from rain.
But the last water
That I shall taste,
Is murky and tinted,
Once filled with waste.
As my last breaths are breathed,
My last thoughts thought,
I am scared and quite cold,
Much like the flies I once caught.
But perhaps in my next life
A spider I won't be.
Perhaps I'll be the human,
Flushing another version of me.
© Megan B., Harpers Ferry, WV
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This article has 6 comments.
Electricity PLATINUM said...
on Oct. 30 2009 at 5:00 pm
Awe! I have arachnidphbia, and this poem opened my eyes to a spider's point of view. Without seeing a spider now, I have some sympathy for the poore things. Alas, when I see one, I want to kill it, because it scares me so much. I wish I could get over that fear now. This poem sets a spider in a different light to me now. Great job!
ThereIsAlwaysHope GOLD said...
on Oct. 16 2009 at 3:56 pm
this is an awesome poem.
well done (:
well done (:
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