Spiders Die

September wonders how long you'll live
and if this tunnel runs the length of your life.
Old paper, like a wounded bird
lies grounded on the edge of a lawn
waving goodbye with a blank, weak wing.
A spider dies from lack of flies.
Hibernating princes shake in fearful dreaming,
faithful dragons awaken,
disturbed by the ripples on the lake.
Rain washes the hair of the pedestrian race
as they stand against the gray,
searching the pavement for colour
but concrete is like dirty bleach.
Everything becomes the shade that it chooses
and, in this,
we have no choice but hallucination.