The Arachnid
Do not look inside that hole
Coal dark, reverberated by the passings of unknown travelers
Cool, but with slit enough to collect the trappings of the wind blown by
The bosom and the sultry abode
Do not sit inside that hole
The spider goads, waiting for the registration of his next meal
Sets of eyes piercing the gloom, a well placed grin, intestine settled in shrunken anticipation
Natures refined savagery
Do not slip into that hole
Housed the long legged freak, the progeny and heir of Medusa
An octopus in gate, yet rigidly dawned in mail and plate
Afoot a rampart, clothed for battle
Do not wander into that hole
Spun webbing trestles the cavern, silky thread glistening with all the fixtures in the trap
Pulled taught, the sacred fleece of the dwellers belly
Enough rope, cold entrapment
Do not search for in that hole
Perched aloft, crowning lairs rafters, the bloke churns pincers
Contemplating life’s ritual expectation Smorgasbord and then to slumber
Compared, the bears hibernation trivial
Do not crawl too deep in hole
The deed complete, a consummation, prey ensnared, another drained of souls elixir
For trick was sink in fang, full bodied envenomation, the most caustic cocktail
catacombized in chains
Do not creep or seek that hole
Rules king of swollen gut, regally draped and throned in brown reclusivity
Abdomen testing full distention, digestion of a fool turned necrotic
The Arachnid