A poem I’ve been thinking about for the past year has culminated to this.

Little Web Jumper

Little web jumper I see you’ve arrived.
What you carry looks heavy and worn.
I hear you’re story and mine,
Are similarly derived,
But I can’t risk for this web to be torn.

You see, I’ve made all these connections
That must be fed and maintained and smoothed out.
So little web jumper I’m afraid
That no room can be made
For such a tenuous thread
That can so easily snap,
Or invite diseases and parasites
While we nap.

I see the little fires that can start
By inviting you too far in.
I see the cute’ lil knots with which
You attempt to patch my skein.
I see the trail you track,
And the trail that follows in your wake.
And I’m afraid little web jumper,
That I simply can not allow you in.

We’ve built this tiny web strong;
Its beginnings are allnso thin
That if you were to do something wrong,
Then that would prevent us all
From attaing what they call,
Freedom from sin.

Please little web jumper move on.
Before anyone connects,
Because this little web can only hold
Us that are already bold,
The protected, the shiny, the old,
Our community bought and sold,
And all the fears we’ve been told.
Of all the web jumper parasites,
Who would drain and strain and cause fights,
Who would connect and reflect and neglect.
So goodbye little web jumper.
I promise to miss you when you’re gone.

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