Like a fly trapped in the web of a spider long dead,
Alone I struggle, knowing not even eight legged death will come to help me.
Give up or fight? It matters not at all;
I cannot break free.
A long slow death is all that waits for me.
I didn’t see it coming, this dusty oubliette,
But that doesn’t change the fact that never again will I be free.
The silk it is cemented to my fragile wings,
And I don’t have the courage to rip them from me.
And even if I did, all I’d do is fall,
To be nothing more than the creatures that skulk on the floor.
I might have been nothing more than a fly,
But I flew.
I failed, but I tried.
What more could I do?