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It was only a tiny fib at first
To show me a step above the worst,
A filament so slight and fine
I barely noticed its arm on mine.
The next spun quickly, without a thought,
Lay next to the first and hindered me not,
A tickle on skin, and a gossamer one
That I thought quite pretty and rather fun.
The next and the next spun stronger still
And I smiled that I could produce them at will,
Proud and smug as the delicate strands
Wound through my fingers and clung to my hands.
As strand after strand glowed brighter and brighter
I missed the change as they slowly grew tighter,
‘Til I started to choke as they covered my face;
I tripped then fell as they shortened my pace.
I tried in vain panic to brush them away,
But now they were legion, and woven to stay,
A tangled web of deceit so tight
That I couldn’t wrest free with all of my might.
As light as a cobweb that fragile first lie,
But now they are cables and I am the fly.



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