How much poetry live within me

Or am I merely a vessel

That has to be loaded and unloaded

To not waste away under the calm wind

And sink to a weighted depth of silent

And unfulfilled dreams


Yet what is the use

Carrying a soul from an unwritten land

To an unread land

Both dotted with footprints of past voyageurs

But no path or end in sight


Perhaps I am destined to be an unnamed pilgrim

That treads upon and whose marks will be tread upon

The wasteland of hapless ambitions

Transforming it into a garden of everlasting

Love, freedom, and hope


There,

You may find me one day

Though you will not know it

Nor will I

Within a petal of the rose


A dust in the dew

The wings of a honeybee


And if you look closely,

Listen closely

Within the laughing wind

As the gale brings all of us

Across the sea

Carrying vessels after vessels

From dream to dream

We often remark collectively

The curious quickness and languidness

Of supposed objectively measured time



Yet

Never truly resolving how could

Fixed increments differ

So significantly and equally

To different close observers



Perhaps it is thus:

That spacetime is a gravitationally

Wrinkled fabric

Measured with a rigid rule

A linear distance

With unseen folds and faults

Unaccounted for in the straight line

That like mountains and valleys

Unable to cross directly in flight

For the haplessly wingless of us

We must climb over and fall through

Therefore adding to the voyage

Time closer to the truth



And mountains and valleys endless

There must have been for us both

To climb over and fall through

In that indivisible fleeting moment

When my eyes first met yours



And mountains and valleys endless

There must still be for us both

In every indivisible fleeting moment-

Again and again, forevermore-

Whenever my eyes meet yours



For such is our love's 'DENSITY'

For such is our love's gravity

They must all be the ceaseless ripples

From our two ever embracing

Neutron star souls

Deep, deep within

As the human soul watches,

The other less clever, obedient invisible masses work.

He tells them to run

They dare not walk,

Or rather,

They synchronize with his mind as one

In unison.

Even time,

Who would surely rebel

If he had chosen to waste his talent,

Followed his command and wishes.


Only those

Having more faith in the mortal flesh

Lived helplessly, questioning the

Chaos

Not knowing the ability behind the

Display of clothing skin

Upon

Each

And

Every

Soul

There's no contentment for the stranger in strange countries
Even though she desires it, it is not what she needs
The dread of being comes with wizened routine
But the cure, a constant anticipation, lies not within
Paradise is eternity in a moment, blissfully lived
Such was the fleeting ways of the stranger and ‘the bee’
An everlasting dream in instances never meant to be
Now that only regretful silence forevermore, remains
The wasp still sings, just so the stranger never hear the doubts from the deep
But the wasp is not a bee, unwanted, the stranger could never keep
Alas, the fate of a love wanting to hear but would never speak
The ever distant longing of The Allegory of the Stranger and the Bee



May the stranger find another life, eternal moments of bliss
And gift the wasp The Present of happiness and the joy of pain
The Absurd Existential Angst of wanting to give everything but knows not how to receive
Knows not how to love
Knows not how to be happy
Knows not how to be.



In the stranger, The Wasp saw a savior
From her shell, from her hatred of everything
She finally dreamed of living, and lived in a dream
In the wasp, the stranger saw a break from the stranger's routine
From the dread of living without much anticipation
The stranger seemed happy, finally truly happy for once in a dream
But, a dream is still just a dream
The wasp sang too loud, and woke the stranger’s sleep
Now only a hopeless longing for the stranger-
The wasp could never love without unbearable pain-
Absurdly remains



If ever the stranger wonders if enough was accomplished
If the stranger's enough, in the stranger's existence of being
Know that the stranger showed the wasp how to be happy
That the stranger is the wasp’s hope of living, the wasp’s everything
But the wasp is not lovable,
The wasp is not a bee
Alas, the wasp is such an absurd being

The stranger's love was a mistake
It was before she realized that
The bee was absurd, the bee was not normal
The bee was a wasp
So she killed the dream

Alas, the wasp's devotion and gratitude
Remain true, remain hopelessly, painfully real
A shattered soul pleading for the end of silence
But knowing full well, there's no means for her to heal

The wasp cared for the stranger

And the stranger for the ‘bee’

The stranger brought her marigolds

And the wasp brings her honey

The stranger sought for another life

But the wasp she could never keep

Never did they realize

The wasp was not a bee