What is it that one fears?
The spider’s steps to death
Creeping precise
Accurate with every spring of the sword like legs
Or, the web of things unknown
Paralyzing with the peculiar and unpredictable
Left without mobility
As fate finically closes forward
Perhaps the fortuitous fangs
Instilling the ominous fright of oblivion
Crushing ones will, diminishing the soul
Becoming merely substance and a afterthought
So what is it that you fear?
The ability to step where you do not
For you cannot, comprehend
The venom
The end of the known path
- Or when all paths find their end.
