Gossamer Tents

A thousand circus tents litter the lawn,
invisible to us, until by dawn
a mist arrives and they shine bright,
as if lit by a beam of silvery light.

A flea dances inside one near, struggling
to get free from the silver steel cables
that compose the entirety of her life.
The spider, tent-maker, may bring her strife.

Does the spider come to remove the flea
from her dance of life, this suddenly?
Or has the spider gone from its nest,
leaving the flea to dance to her last?

Perhaps this insignificant creature
escapes her bonds, fleeing, alive and free
to live the way she was meant to be?
Or does only cruelty lie in wait for me?

~ Tarah