Cocoon Nimble, precise, viscid strands, plucked at the follicle spiral tightly, Self-bondage, pulled tight yet the worm-wrought wires weave a garment of seclusion, never quite immobilizing the larva. Oh, how the maggot desires isolation, paralyzation, oblivion, yet the anxiety-strands it weaves, wend whimsically, leaving the grub dangling to hope and fear. What if this is it? The purpose is no more than a trap. Actualization is for the brilliant philosopher, not for the worm. Waxed wings ascended the wight, however briefly beyond his mortal cage but the larva lurches a line, hanging hope over a chasm of festering fear. Much is at stake, for innocent beings became ensnared in the worms honey-sinews, hypnotized, swaying outside the womb or is it a tomb? The cliche image only heightens the terror. Something deep down; unexpected happens. Despite the machinations of the grub, just as the cocoon seals and conceals, just as hope snaps its lifeline and the maggot ceases its struggle, a twinkle, a spark of the universe, a magical muse transforms the worm. But what if worm is malformed? Will there be sublime pneumatic elation or a plummeting scream into the abyss? The form emerges. Up or Down? deanstev.weebly/tome-of-infinite-wisdom/cocoon
Posted on: Mon, 19 Jan 2015 20:27:51 +0000
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