Under the unforgiving summer sun, their small, winged bodies hover from one flowering plant to another, working tirelessly in the sweltering heat as we laze in the shade...

Their work is endless, the product harvested in minutes. Smoked into a stupor while we steal their treasures, and if some of them die, so be it...

Melissa, Queen of Bees,
revered before by human royalty and great innovators,

Melissa, Queen of Bees,
who connects life and death,
whose children killed the demon Arunasura in India,
and were prophets to the gods in Greece and Rome.

Melissa, Queen of Bees,
her bees fell from the sun in Egypt,
aided the first living man in Uganda,
and created man from the back of a mantis in the Kalahari Desert.

Melissa, Queen of Bees,
her children are the origin of magic in Eastern Europe,
a source of fertility and a connection to nature in North America,
and fierce, terrifying warriors in the South.

Melissa, Queen of Bees,
the Great Mother,
the root of being,
the bridge to the afterlife,
we owe her children our lives,
the least we can do is spare them their's.

Modern society
Governed by philosophy and reason
Evolved from a past
Lacking evidence and freedom

Our ancestors aspired to our current state
But failed to attain it before meeting their fate
In their dreams they may have reached for the sky
While we climb into metal tubes that fly

Disease and illness killed before teens
But that has been eradicated, thanks to vaccines
Yes, modern medicine took our illnesses away
But not before millions were buried in clay

Our ancestors lived lacking food each day
Now we throw most of ours away  
Our development has changed us, in not all positive ways
We should remember that our planet is ablaze

Our ways are not currently sustainable
But surely this has to be changeable
Compared to what we’ve faced
Anything is attainable

Although, some people deny that anything is going on
They argue that we should continue
As if we are doing nothing wrong

They are forgetting to look around them
To see what some people face
A lack of clean water
Is certainly a disgrace

So as science continues to advance us
Don’t forget to look back
To recognize those less fortunate
And maintain the environment that’s been passed on to us

Tragedy ruins
Barricades
And dams
within
Minds,
Releasing
Memories
-Thoughts-
Thought to be
Confined
And restrained
Beneath
Clean beds,
Behind
Closed doors,
Far from
The confines
Of comfort

Tragedy is
Reminiscent
Of people
Places
Or things
That never
Change,
Never could

Tragedy is
Perpetual,
Steeping in
Contentment,
Releasing
Notes of
Burning oak
Gasoline
And oxides
Into
the lungs
Of innocents
And
The uneducated,
Never to
Understand
That both
Beauty
And privilege
Are nurtured by
The arms
Of tragedy

Nature sees what nature sees,
And nature does what nature does.
Minds believe in memories
And sometimes hearts believe in love.
When hearts and minds do both agree,
Conceived are dreams converged as one,
But love of life and logic leaves
Our livelihoods left out of luck.

Deceived are these who dream of things
Composed of money, grease, and blood:
Mechanical beings, with cogs and springs,
Like clockwork do this planet run.
In tightened shifts, devices click,
And slowly start to smog the sun,
But smoke and fog made synthetically,
How many does this bother? None.
Machines, you see, they do not breathe
The air they leave beneath for us.
They call this craft their politics,
And leave us here to pay in blood.
One by one, by one, we wonder,
Where the humans lost their love.

When will men begin to see
What nature sees how nature does?

at some queer second
         not quite between twelve and twelve
                    blue planet dust particles dream
                                suspend midair
                                 while sunbeams dance
                        across minute hands
                   in your eyes

            **** carpet melts into lush
       dark grass
      and azure electric runs across petals
         of daisies dipped in glass

                 air swims carelessly about in a tropical heat
                          and shimmers curiously like
                                  glitter in rain or
                                        paint splattered koi
                                                beneath oil spills

                                                   you stand at the
                                                      precipice to purple
                                                   infinity
                                       and curiously ask the darkness
                            "what time it might be"

                   soft words of loved ones
echo faintly in distance

       overhead
                    copper willows generously sprout
                         industrial light-bulbs