Bees

Aiesha Allison-Bramwell

The bees are alive,

Trapped inside their hive,

Buzzing around, 

I remain glued to the ground, 

As they fly and fly,

I begin to die. 

 

In the blissful face of silence, they scream, 

I awake from my idealist dream, 

Their constant buzzing gets louder and louder,

Causing everything I know to turn to powder, 

A head as a garden,

Please beg my pardon

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