This spider of yours
You mark'd it's actions, it's position, it's trajectory, it's velocity.
And from these you mark'd purpose.
But what of the vacant vast void it launch'd at
And yet do not see it master?
Do you not see it master
The darkness of uncertainty
Swirling clouds of fear of pain of isolation as the noose
coils against Arachne's throat.
The one truly seriously philosophiz'd problem,
The supposition of a detach'd soul.