FALSE WIDOW - THE SEQUEL

I know they're under the eaves scheming

for a next move nothing left to chance. 

My torch reveals one taking the outside air at night

in a strung rocking chair,

a perfect design in its world of complexity. 

By day nothing is visible except threads

in corners, where futures are made. 

 

A sense of privilege holds me back from destroying them

allowing full rein over my discomfort.

I have built a home

they have built a home

we are therefore in a sense equal

and I am indisputably never alone. 

◄ WAR CHANT

GUN LAW ►

Comments

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raypool

Tue 29th Nov 2022 19:22

Many thanks as always for all your likes, folks. Excuse me if I don't mention you all at the moment!

Thank you John. Very nice comment.

Got it in one, Uilleam....

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Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Sat 26th Nov 2022 20:12

Arachnids?

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John Botterill

Thu 24th Nov 2022 21:57

There is a real sense of sinister mystery here, Ray.. Your poem is very clever in its own 'world of complexity' and its unerring balance. Bravo!

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