Mondays Finish the Story – Family Tree

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© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

“What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”

Obfuscating freedom with obscurity,

Trickery,

Deceptively-

Leading others to misery,

Melancholy,

Gloomy.

Unhappy-

Spindly spindles of sticky,

Tacky,

Gluey,

Lies not of necessity,

And they will inevitably,

Unavoidably,

Certainly,

Unescapably,

Unsurprisingly,

Be the end of me.

This web stuck up in a tree,

Of family,

Captured are he, she,

Me.

We’re all undeniably,

Irrefutably,

Indubitably,

Trapped for all eternity,

In this world we see,

Where things are not as they seem to be.

Our brothers are not brotherly,

And sisters not sisterly.

We never knew if our mothers were motherly,

Or our fathers fatherly.

Our guardians are not parentally:

Neither paternally,

Or maternally.

Those genetically,

Heritably,

Natively,

Naturally,

Evil things are a monstrosity,

That left us be,

Because of such a high fee.

They didn’t care about our survivability,

Leaving us under a park tree,

When our guardians selflessly,

Saved you and me,

From our deceptively,

Gloomy,

Gluey,

“Family” tree.