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In my mind I have a hive
where a million bees live and thrive.
The killer bees have left, they've gone
I have no need, what's done is done.

The honey bees, that now I keep
so sickly sweet, they let me sleep.
The bees and I now live as one,
they'll follow me when I am gone.

Each one of them and from above
a little sting, from me with love.
So sickly sweet into your mind,
memories of me are all you'll find.

So every day that you live on,
equal days that I am gone.
See, suddenly it all made sense,
A life of pain,
your recompense.

Poetry by Kaydee
Often writ in retrospect of memories, a cloudy recollect.
Bumblebees swarm under
The orange rind, bedside
Lamp flits, claws clench
A steering wheel, speeding.
Almost there, almost home,
You’re so close to finally
Understanding, almost.
Victoria Feb 16
Love isn't always butterflies and snow cones
It can be bee stings and low groans
Sometimes difficulties swallow the ease of smiles
At its lowest, it can be worse than getting lost in grocery aisles
Triumphing through the days where my patience is tested
Are the days are simply worth rejoicing
Because love isn't always bee stings and low groans
It can be butterflies and snow cones
danna22081 Feb 10
It might be said:

Walking through the desolate trees,
Past the vibrant, entangled vines,
Away, from the busy, flamboyant hives
Of busy, buzzing bees,
I wonder to myself,
What if I was blind?

Blind… blind as a bat,
A challenge considered a breeze
For me,
An examination I sat
Long before my thoughts had ceased,
From the withering eyes,
The large, interested mouths,
And hissing voices,
I have realised.

Perky, rushing bees,
Working, mending,
Crafting their home,
Had they been blind,
Would they have been able to roam?
In the sheer light of ecstasy,
Shaping their future
Hive of life,
As though
None other was influential enough
To change it?

For I, living, well and all
Could never work to the strength of such
Miniature creatures,
Considered no more than dust
To the rest of a conjectured society.
A society, inclusive of I,
For long ago, I knew I was blind.
Blinded by the bees,
And so I was silenced,
Just as the desolate trees
Before me.
They asked me: "How is blindness conceived through society? Does every body know they have been blinded?"
Ira Desmond Dec 2018
There should be
a time for

each of us
to mourn, individually,

the world that
we thought we would

be living in by now,
whatever world it was.

I, for one,
will mourn

the children
I thought I would have

someday.
I will mourn

the version of myself
that is not

crippled with debt
for having decided to get

an education. I will mourn
the version of my wife

that was not destroyed
by mental illness

with ruthless and shocking efficiency
right after

we got married.
I will mourn

those brilliant flocks of
butterflies, those mid-July swarms

of honeybees that
I thought would not

have perished
quite so quickly.

I will mourn
the summers I thought I would spend

swimming in
clear, living streams,

not having to wear
a mask to unchoke myself

from the omnipresent wildfire
smoke. But I will mourn

civility and morality
above all else, I think.

I will mourn those
difficult discourses

that I thought we
would be capable

of having, that feeling
that we, as a collective,

would be able
to overcome

whatever problem presented
itself. I will mourn

that world that
I thought I would

be living in by now,
whatever world it might have been.

And then, I will take
a deep breath, and

I will accept
things as they truly are.

I will
allow that tsunami of reality

to wash over me,
and to sweep

me up within its
endless tonnage of

of mortal peril and
human catastrophe.

And then I will continue living.
Erika Dec 2018
your lips

drip

of honey

and so our kiss

is just as sweet
juliet Nov 2018
and i’ll watch the world
burn
burn
burn
with the fire that you started in me
i’ll stay and look past you
because you’re blocking
my view of heaven
where i can see the
butterflies and bees
where they sip on waterfalls and
drink champagne full of
the stars
you know you’re my sun
my moon
my stars
this is my blood
my sweat
my tears
from all these years of loving you
you should be thankful
but you didn’t choose me.
i chose you
Anne J Nov 2018
Petals scatter with sweet honey from the hexagonal sun
And drip their nectar unto the heiress’s staff’s bun
Her lips shine with the yellow blood of her little wasp enemies
Disguised with a soft and young smile that’s hidden breathlessly
The young ruler’s snow hair dissolves into sweet sprinkles of canary
And her golden eyes shall unleash a sting into whoever she shall marry
A poem I started yesterday and finished today. Based on this artwork I saw on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/thegraystray/art/Inktober-2017-Queen-Bee-711131419. I got her permission to do this poem. Please check out her art, it's freaking awesome!
Gracie Nov 2018
There are turtles dying in the sea
and it's all down to you and me.
We throw plastic carelessly
into a place that we can't see.

We are also killing all the trees
and it's all down to you and me.
We cut them down so carelessly
it's so bad but we can't see.

We're killing off all our bees
and it's all down to you and me.
We take their plants so carelessly
but it doesn't affect us right? I guess you can't see.

That the turtles are carefully
helping you and me
and the trees you destroy carelessly
are giving us oxygen daily.
And I know you don't care about those bees
but they actually protect you and me
and without them, well I don't want to see
a world without them on the daily.
everyone needs to be aware of how our thoughtless acts are destroying the world. even small things like recycling make such a huge impact on the world, even if it doesn't directly affect you.
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