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Aug 2016
Black birds flew, across a bright blue sky...

Not lions, but batta
lions
of once-solitary animals --
the remaining tigers --
had proven to be social.

Although gradual, they did emerge
– together – as if contractual.

But their reaction was only natural,
even for such animals of predation
-- of blood --
of relation.

Salvation - they found
through alleviation of self,
via a translation of feelings –
the very same vibrations
that they all felt.

The same inhalations, the same exhalations --
the same preservation --
they all had longed for & sought.

They awoke together constituting a tribe
-- a risen nation -- built upon foundation
far stronger than *pride
 --

Engineered to escape dismay & damnation
through an ambush on heart ----
                                                            ­ attacking "the inside."

From the swamps & the grasslands,
from thick, rainy woods... even down
from the mountains -- they had prowled --
but now stood.

Each - tall, on all-fours.
Diligently, through liberality --
patiently, through humility –
after having followed a trail dotted with notes of morality -

vague striping had now arrived.

Forced to decamp -- to leave --
in a moment - from a moment,
from a place - to a new place,
from home - to a strange place...

had to move on - to relocate,
to a new home – collecting (recollecting) -- like lost pages --
together, through the author's life & death – forever,
                                                     as one total tome.

Rather resettle in ferocious & muted memory.
Rather stay (in silence), in caskets
– with all of their wishes -- boxed into a dream -
they awoke, increasing their probability
of survival, of stitching torn seams.

Nectar perfumed -
performing magic – making real such a thing,
re-revealing things wrongly assumed --
saving them within their tome,
rather sealing them within a collective tomb.

A treat for rusted senses – the smell of something so sweet.
Vague striping -- once-hardly seen -- now certain,

                \||/
these r --- (@) --- ys
                 /||\

shined as one streak.

Beasts of orange, white, & black
were accepted by tiny, black & yellow machines
-- striated from dark to light -- the last remaining colony.
The grist of surviving bees had “stood" back in return – buzzing, hovering.

But they had not drawn their lances (or one single line).
They formed a union -- committed to peace --
allowing all sexes to live - all males & females to bee
equal, as if all seen
through one, shared set-- the same set – of eyes.

For here -- in this saved-life -- even in death, no more would die.

Neither workers now born,
nor just one queen.

The colors bled together so --
each sides' striping now ran so deep.
The sides intersected, came together so --
each color was forced to bleed...

                                                       ­     ...out & die;

                                                           or together so -
                                         alternatively, as a whole,
                               they all could decide
                      to breathe.

                                                    *­Black birds flew, across a bright blue sky,
mimicking the colors below –
the honey gold & tiger’s eye.
Ran through it once. Apologies for any errors.

All of my love,

Light

I would also like to thank Papaya for aiding me with this. Any work connected to or following my piece "The Confluence of Tigers & Bees" shall share credit due with this author. I advise you to check them out.
Written by
Light House
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       Emma Hill, Whiskey Trance, Kim, ---, Autumn Rose and 19 others
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