Black Widow

Up she goes, 

to a strange place.

She moves quick,

no trace left 

in her wake.

Every move, 

calculated.

Every step,

measured.

The stillness of

this moment

is sacred.

She becomes

mute.

Ritual becomes

reality.

She inches closer.

Fate hangs in the

balance, as she becomes 

monstrous.

Ready to strike,

she injects a 

lethal venom.

Death by 

Black Widow.

Author's Note

Open to comments or suggestions, they are greatly appreciated!

Reviews

[Another Relic]

An accurate description. I like the little bit of tension as the poem nears the end. Nice job.