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?
