The Spy

Ensnared in a web of lies
Made with wisps of plots
And unsaid doubts.
Hanging in the balance
By threads so thin,
So slight,
That they belie their strength,
Their unyielding hold.
Past deeds bind him
In spider's silk,
Spun by two masters,
Not one.
One trusts because of them.
One trusts in spite of them.
But who can truly say
They know the man,
Who lives on Spinner's End?