Do you make honey
With your slander?
Or is it a nest
Buried beneath soil?
Underground caverns
Twisting paper
Birthing stingers of lies
Paper thin
The nest you dwell within
Do you find yourself
Walking the corridors alone
Dry and crumbling
While you gather others to congregate?
Is it the sweet nectar you seek
As what the honeybees
Who busily toil
And here, you want to keep it in a jar
Until it crystalizes
Then put it under the heat
In order for it to pour for you
And your paper words
Absorb into the walls
You find yourself stuck
With stingers blindly
Finding your flesh
Like thorns from a rose
They tear
Yet never flower.
Yet my garden of clover
Feeds the production of
What moves slowly
As I pour the work into myself
and God’s word into yours.
You cannot escape
The entrance sealed
In a garden veil of love
A glue that purifies
An antiseptic that cures
All the wounds embittered
And heals with gentleness
And slowly it drips in
Healing the soul.
I nourish the bees with truth
You could free yourself
But your tongue is a dull sword
And succumbs to the fluid amber
Keeping your own self trapped
Within your paper deceits.