Scratches On My Gravestone

| On the Spectrum of Patience and Hunger |

Patience. Hunger. What do they have in common?
The spider ponders as she creeps.
Cold morning dew drips from her web of darkness.
A moth, a fly, an even smaller spider than herself entangles itself in her bloodnest.
She senses it in the air, the blasphemous beast.
A bird calls out from overhead.
The spider looks up.
His beak glistens in the moonlight.
She wonders if her web will fall victim to it, to his hunger.
His patience is not so long as her own.
His hunger, not so small.
Still, she continues to go about as usual.
Such is the cycle of life.
She spins.

Patience. Hunger. What do they have in common?
The crow dances in his little forest, trying to find the answer.
The wind rustles through the leafy arms of his home, carrying his song away with it.
Smarter than the early bird, he'll snatch up his prey before the sun comes out.
He tastes it in the air, the sin of the unnatural.
A person cries out from overhead.
The crow looks up.
Their silhouette hides away the moonlight.
He knows he will not fall victim to it, to their hunger.
Their patience is not so short as his own.
Their hunger, not so small.
Still, he continues to go about as usual.
Such is the cycle of life.
He flies.

Patience. Hunger. What do they have in common?
The demon laughs bitterly in the face of the moon, for they already know the answer.
Embers of a lost flame burn dimly in their eyes.
Their sacrifice is willing, reflecting the innocence they once had.
They can almost taste it, the pureness of its heart.
It watches from overhead.
The demon looks away.
They can't bear to taint the divine moonlight with their poison.
They wish it had never fallen victim to them, to their hunger.
Its patience is not so short as their own.
Its hunger, not so monstrous.
Still, they continue to go about as usual.
Such is the cycle of life.
They feed.