death is promised to the bee
who’s sting protects the colony.
was its life worth nothing more
than honey for the queen?
life is a branch and it is a dove,
handcrafted by confusing love.
sign language is our reply,
when church bells make no sound.
in hollow towers and empty hives,
we craved sweetness with a fear of heights.
was it all just a grain of sand
in an hourglass?
the smartest thing i’ve ever learned
is that i don’t have all the answers,
just a little light to call my own.
though it pales in comparison
to the overarching shadows,
a speck of light can reignite the sun
and swallow darkness whole.
death is a cold, blindfolded kiss.
it is the finger pressed upon our lips.
it puts an unwanted emphasis
on how we should have lived.
life is a gorgeous, broken gift.
six billion+ pieces waiting to be fixed.
love letters that were never signed,
sent to where we live.
but the sweetest thing i’ve ever heard
is that i don’t have to have the answers,
just a little light to call my own.
though it pales in comparison
to the overarching shadows,
a speck of light can reignite the sun
and swallow darkness whole.