The Art of Destruction

She sat there waiting, patiently,
Assured of her success,
Indifferent to the certainty 
That she would cause duress.

She'd spun a trap so beautiful
It seemed a work of art,
Its gossamer perfection
Like the poison in a dart.

My bird's eye view allotted me
A close-up of the scene,
The window pane the only object
Coming in between.

I missed the grab, but fascinated,
Watched that silken thread
As it wrapped around the victim
Which, cocoon-like, hung there dead.

How heartless certain creatures seem,
But aren't we the same?
Though we lack the spider's ways,
To some, destruction is the aim.

For a bully isn't happy
'Til he savors the defeat 
Of his splayed-out prey, but spiders 
Merely want a bite to eat.