Poem- “Webs”

“Webs”

A spider reaches the apple from his web.

It catches fire and butterflies start going there.

Each butterfly has a letter for the queen who rules all.

However, the queen herself is made of butterflies.

Light covers the whole jungle.

Darkness comes and goes.

Houses are set for wires that breathe in our worldwide river streams.

Particular streams may not run whatsoever.

Yet, there’s nature around those butterflies who relate to their queen.

Apples continue growing in the local gardens.

Gardens are filled with tubes.

That spider may or may not reach all pipes and clouds.

Vision is made from itself by resource and resource.

Food begins eating itself again.

Our globe can pop from its strings attached.

Birds call and make the voiceless sing.

Whales go on record.

Everything is nothing out of anything.

Leaves drop onto the ground.

Of course, the ground is actually in the spider’s apple.

Seeds come apart from flesh and muscle in the given fruits.

Harvests involve trees on every year.

And, yet, spiders aren’t necessarily giving threads every moment on the web.

No, the web is drawn from change and pause.

Sand isn’t exactly a number unless the infinite mark is dug into.

Apples grow into their seeds and spring from lipless water.

My picture of this story is convoluted enough.

So, even my picture adds darkness from light where reflections are conflicting.

Does a tree even grow from what’s planted for its roots?

Matter caves in on matter, subject falls into subject, face shines over face.

Just light arrives to us from specific divisions of rays.

The sky is close to us and far away for everybody.

Wind has settled in the movements between our gaits.

Or, let me interpret my metaphors for you.

Internet is paper.

News pops up from the web.

We’re spiders along realized or ignored lines of connection.

Journalists write for newspapers and internet visitors can write.

So, we’re not just reading from journalists, but ourselves.

People often read from themselves within means of internet connection.

A transfer has occurred between newspapers and internet companies.

Both newspapers and internet companies sell paper.

The paper: wood or electric, ink or pixel, roots or chips.

My poem you’re reading is a work of art.

Art and craft have been so mixed up that each may as well be the other, too.

Newspapers have been very much declining; however, internet companies grow.

Our information, our paper, hasn’t really changed at all.

Words from us go around.

Nature exists all around us and there’s something following us.

Guys handle news of their own, also.

Imagine that I give you a newspaper and tell you to write in it.

Well, does this information have value?

You’ve written the newspaper.

Internet is paid for.

News is expressed from what we’ve forgotten.

Other newspapers can be read and you’re a competitor with yourself and them.

Typewriting is a delicacy.

Webs are reaching your threads of spinning.

Computers are bought and sold for everybody’s consumption.

It’s like a journal, a diary, a song, a tongue in need of co-habitation.

Time flies in the middle of nowhere.

So, pay yourself attention and leave others to it.

Getting comments around takes a natural undertaking.

Check on attention, check off attention.

Newspapers haven’t disappeared; in fact, there’s still paper.

Your computer is paper.

Ink gets across sections burning into the page.

Money isn’t going to suddenly disappear out of thin air.

Yeah, metal can leak and flowers get plucked.

Humans live on Earth.

Thus, journalism isn’t in trouble.

Newspapers hire people and so do internet companies.

The apple still grows.

https://www.deviantart.com/gameuniverso/art/Webs-806639198