RHYS SAGE | CREATIVES
I’ve strung these webs over a thousand times
running back and forth, round and round.
But the wind, the rain, the hands of children
tear them down – swindling, dwindling.
Autumn gossamer threads
forming in the mind
cobwebs in corners
but no spider can be found.
I just wanted the world to see,
this twine of me.
It’s times like this that I wonder why
my art is made only to die.