In the watery silk web
of slippery deceit,
the inked widow sits poised
upon her throne’s seat.
Fresh from their cocoons,
the innocent plow the air
unaware of the netted fate
that awaits them there.
The laughing wind plays tic-tack-toe
with the two foes,
chillingly unconcerned
as to how the situation goes.
In the end, by law, nature
will be the deciding one;
choosing the loser as well
as the creature who has won.
Strange how man apes
this phenomenon of nature;
as if he was the controlling force
and world shaker;
selecting and culling
his inked man-cubs one by one;
caught in the bloody silk web
of the chosen some.
But the gavel of justice
is unweaving the deceit that men bare;
and echoes of cracked liberty bells
are bellowing everywhere.