Freak: A Riddle Poem

Hint: There are two hidden meanings.

Happy Halloween, everybody! I don’t usually post random bits of poetry, but I recently wrote this and had to share it with you. It’s a riddle poem, so feel free to comment with your speculations of what the poem is about. The answer will be revealed Nov. 1. No cheating for those who’ve already heard it. Have a fantastic Saturday!

 

Freak

That’s what they call me.

That’s what I am. Freak of nature. Hours.

I spent hours working on it. I dove into the wind, freefalling

until I grabbed the first green mile marker, drawing my experiences along,

toiling, spinning, clawing. Isn’t it beautiful? The way silver catches the morning dew

and skewers it on a string? Perhaps you mayn’t consider my art so fine, for dragons and
monarchs both have succumbed to mummification at the work of eight appendages,

but bloodsuckers and creeps have met their doom at my work. Judge for yourself:

be you a victim, slapped in the face by my toils or an admirer from afar.

Either way, the silver is short lived, wrenched apart

in the wind, and tomorrow,

I’ll build another. 

 

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Update *contains spoilers*:
This poem is about both a spider and a writer.