Spiders Were Lonely Flies

Spiders Were Lonely Flies

A Poem by Joshua Carl Cruz

In the times before writers,
there weren't any flies, 
nor spiders, on earth, 
there existed only... The Flyers 
The Flyers flew, they knew no fear 
of death, they too, were born of air. 
They did not really care for rest, 
if only, but to catch their breath. 
Except one day, a lonesome Flyer, 
whose wings were just a tad bit tired,
stopped to rest, what happened next,
changed either's history forever. 
The very young Flyer had just begun 
took notice there were many things, 
of which, he'd likely never done 
before, thought about, or percieved. 
Suddenly, he was falling in love  
with Mother Earth, and all of her bugs, 
some of which he watched in awe, 
crawling slowly across Autumn's leaves.
Pollinating flowers along the gaily 
potted grounds, 
speaking to whatever nature's 
left laying all abound,
spending the days, maybe, 
playing with daisies 
became his dialy prayers 
whilst walking around.
Then one day 
he met a very strange being,
who hovered above him, 
saying many strange things,
saying, You yet walk when you aught 
be aloft, in the air
just what, may i ask, are you doing 
down here?
The Flyer who was lost 
but not at all scared
said, I wanted to stop flying, and live rightly, 
down here.
Certainly not, the celestial thought, 
although, it could oft be persuaded  
or posthumously talked into 
accepting souls as payment.
It pressured him. What was precious to them? 
Their wings were, without a question,
and when it knew this, then it grew jealous, 
and desired his, without exception.
The Flyer then asked for something in turn,
another two legs for his climber's concerns.
It also fashioned him a rope he could use
to catch in his traps new spectacular foods.
The Flyer, inspired by his wild transformation
took to the loom and of his own mad creation,
he looped and aligned, twisted and intwined,
and wove love into every silk section. 
but, when the being was gone, 
just The Flyers looked on,oh, 
how they hated his wish! 
and though 
they laughed at his labours 
and chanted he was dangerous 
they had no 
idea who the they were truly 
dealing with
The Flyer, true now to his spirit 
had chosen,
to modify his name for something 
more poisoned,
more maligned, and malicious, simply 
dripping with ichor,
he thought for a moment, then 
changed it to Spider.
He then caught all his brethren, 
and ate them for hours.
and those who had shunned him, 
screamed now for hours.
He made quite a scene of exhibiting 
his powers, 
for his horrible sleeping, he prefers his 
own flowers. 
And there we leave him to meet again 
our narrator,
who is glad you have read what ends 
hours later.
May you never trade your wings for pettiness, 
or revenge, 
unless it comes with flowers, for which to lay upon 
their heads.
Goodnight friends.

© 2017 Joshua Carl Cruz

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on December 9, 2015
Last Updated on August 21, 2017


Joshua Carl Cruz
Joshua Carl Cruz

Mexico City, D.F., Mexico

I've been working at figuring out what writing means to me. So far, it means just that, writing. A lot of it. more..