Afterthought 157—Not So Cursed

Posted in curtal sonnet by maggie on 2015/05/17

Spiders' eggs, swallowed before recast 
as polluted sacrificial babies sent
to come again, hatch their truth, "Go! Go!"

These days, soul mates don't get made to last
past the soul itself.  Things get bent.
They do.  Things get bent so they'll be so.

The amalgamation improves not on its worst
accepted for itself.  An unheard word's intent
can't pay the debt the said ones wouldn't owe.

All'll work out as meant, not so much cursed
                        as to stub a toe.