Member-only story
The Cave of Spiders
Nature Poetry by Chris Bunton
At The Mouth Of The Cave Of Spiders I Sit,
Focusing On The Green Forest Before Me.
The 8 Legged Symphony Strumming Their Webs,
In Time, With The Flitting Birds, Chirping,
An Ancient Holy Tune.
Forever, I sit, comfortable and free.
Looking At The Changing Forest Before Me.
The Rains Came And Went, The Blazing Sun And,
Whipping Wind, Freezing Snows, Over And Over, Again.
Saplings Grew To Mighty Oaks, Then Crashing Down,
They Rotted Away.
The Same Song Was Sung, By Every Existing Thing,
Over And Over, Through History Past,
To Eternity, The Creation Sang.
Praise To The Ancient One.
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Bio: Chris Bunton is a writer, poet and blogger from Southern Illinois.
Photo by the poet, An old Salt Mine near Valdmeyer, Illinois on the Mississippi River.
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