Caught in his own masterpiece spiderweb of play,
The hunter cried foul.
"The sticky strings that once fetched food,
the geckos now tread with their tongues stretched out.
Territorial disputes have I none,
just a couple of foes in the corner of the room.
Looks to me its time I left,
Straight to the center of my empire.
The ceiling fan, there, flourishes in its reign.
Could mean the end or a cobweb of glory.
If the end, I wouldn't feel sorry.
Just another martyr in the age old battle.
Or, worse, in history's tablets an intentional mistake."
24 hours since his realization,
Yet he's still stuck in his spiderweb.
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