Wicked webs

We spin a spell,
Weave a yarn,
And this creates our web of belief.

What wicked webs we weave...
But only when we think that we're the Weaver.
Our actions spiral out into Pi,
Easy to abstract, hard to divine.

I catch myself dancing on the twin blade
Of pride at my own brilliance,
And humiliation that I cannot be brilliant at will.
But the brilliance escapes me none the less.