Web of Lies

Poor is the web of lies
Woven with but one thread
Catching but a few flies
This isn't what we dread

The web holds many strings
Greed, guilt, self-hate
For every fly something
Upon the cloying grate

To greed some flies succumb
Toward treasure they grope
Lusting after a crumb
Perish on sticky ropes

Some drown in their own guilt
Heedless of threats of death
By which the web is built
Surrender their last breath

A fly must look within
Something most don't dare
Each thread alone is thin
The web is hardly there

Blinded by careless haste
Most fail to see evil
Or in the final waste

April is National Poetry Writing Month

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