I said "Welcome to my parlour",
But you were the spider, and I the fly.
How could I feel so trapped here?
Did my instincts pass me by?
The trouble with my thinking,
Is that questions don't go away.
I just stare at you, feeling worthless.
I just simply don't know what to say.
The carrion queens that have circled,
Have traced patterns I can recall.
They're there as I glance through the window.
They're there waiting for me to fall.
Clipped wings that I perhaps wish for
Have strengthened, grown and spread.
They encircle times long passed now.
I know now where I'll not be led.
Hi Christopher. Thanks for taking the time to read a small portion of these 16 lines just the once. I'd be delighted to know at what point you think I "lost all shape and resemblance of my insight". I personally felt that I stuck to a rigid and traditional structure on this one. I can appreciate that some people find it trite or banal, but to describe it as bland is to suggest it is derivative of the type of grammar-free stream-of-consciousness tripe that plagues this site. Personal poetry is personal. I'm not expecting people to strum their happy string on this one. I'm just expecting either constructive dismissal or praise. Not apathetic meanderings. Sorry.
Started off well really looking forward to the poem but then what happened you totally lost all shape and resemblance of your insight to this poem structure totally awryand as for structure there was simply none and imagery was as bland as butter on a bundie