Webs of Doubt

It can be cruel how the mind weaves it's webs,
clouding ones hopes and dreams with it's soft gossamer tendrils.

The strands of doubt strung from one end to the next,
without any care or concern of their affect on all thoughts.

Clinging in places one would not think to find them.
Hidden in the brightness of illumination, yet there all the same.

Quietly tucked away in the corners and crevasses,
gently swaying in the slight breeze that each small hope creates.

Brush these delicate webs away as oft as you wish,
yet they return again and again,
without care or concern of the veil of shadows
that they create within and without.

For the webs are only the creation of another,
and of themselves can do naught.
It is the creator of these webs that must be sought out,
to rid oneself of them completely.

Copyrighted ©2004 Ranae' Davidson