InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Spider's Weeping: Naraku ❯ The Spider's Weeping ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Knittingknots 
Thoughts about the Shikon no Tama, Naraku, Kikyo and his death
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Psychological / Angst | Type: Poetry | Uploaded On: 07.15.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 241 | Visits: 586 | Status: Completed
Thoughts about the Shikon no Tama, Naraku, Kikyo and his death
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Psychological / Angst | Type: Poetry | Uploaded On: 07.15.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 241 | Visits: 586 | Status: Completed
The Spider's Weeping: Naraku
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or any of its charaters
The black light pulses harder, harder,
like a thirst that cannot be quenched,
like a heart that cannot be removed,
a lust forever to be unscratched.
He holds it ever close,
this gem out of balance.
It whispers to him
in the dark of his mind
in the midnight.
She escaped him in the end,
the one he longed for,
the one bright thing he reached out to
to muddy it into oblivion,
to encrust with his own blight,
and yet,
even now,
the spider will not leave him,
spinning the unending webs
wrapping around the dregs of his soul
to pull that last part of him into an unending,
unrequited,
unrelenting hell.
Still, he will reach out, always to conquer,
and be amazed
at the small flecks of light
that can stand whole
to rebuke his midnight.
One day,
although he will not believe it,
that small flick of light at its very core
will consume the gem,
consume his soul,
and purify all his dreams --
all that will be left behind
are his shells
and the weeping of a lone spider.
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or any of its charaters
The black light pulses harder, harder,
like a thirst that cannot be quenched,
like a heart that cannot be removed,
a lust forever to be unscratched.
He holds it ever close,
this gem out of balance.
It whispers to him
in the dark of his mind
in the midnight.
She escaped him in the end,
the one he longed for,
the one bright thing he reached out to
to muddy it into oblivion,
to encrust with his own blight,
and yet,
even now,
the spider will not leave him,
spinning the unending webs
wrapping around the dregs of his soul
to pull that last part of him into an unending,
unrequited,
unrelenting hell.
Still, he will reach out, always to conquer,
and be amazed
at the small flecks of light
that can stand whole
to rebuke his midnight.
One day,
although he will not believe it,
that small flick of light at its very core
will consume the gem,
consume his soul,
and purify all his dreams --
all that will be left behind
are his shells
and the weeping of a lone spider.