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Bee of God

Eyes bleary with strain and exhaustion

From staring at the empty horizon

Watching for signs of the train’s arrival

The old man reaches for his pocket

To pull the handkerchief with the bee

Embroidered on pale blue Napoleonic print

Wait, old man, wait for the future

That has long since come and gone

Wave your flag at your parade

And merge with that horizon

As empty as your time on earth.

Though I loved you in your youth

Your golden locks, your eager eyes

Your perfect limbs and pretty phrase

The swift ballroom steps, your promises,

And even your clever science that silences,

Now I pity you, now I grieve for you.

I was your Gretchen and your Garbo,

Your Helen and your Cleopatra,

I sang you lullabies and morning hallelujahs

And gave you the Son of Man

To teach you the penance and poetry of love.

I restored you every time you fell

Into the dust of your chains and desires,

But you never relented, never understood

My essence and my kindness.

And though I came from you,

Even sprung from your rib,

And though you suckled me

And showed me kindness,

The devil’s history broke us asunder.

It is time for me to leave

You in the dust you came from.

I am God’s bee sent through the time

Of good and of evil

To gather the gold for the streets

Within the pearly gates

From every brow and every epoch,

From every fall and every triumph,

The gold of my endless love for you

My mother, father, kin and brother

Distilled in the finest formations,

Manifestations, philosophical questions,

Dictations, recreations, and testimonials

In every tongue and every stonework,

Each letter crafted with trembling hands

And every page recited in shrill confessions,

The splendid vistas, living works, and music

Endlessly crafted in harmony with my visage,

All brought to me, my innocence, and my penance

I’ve gathered laboriously, willingly, and amorously

From every age and corner as tribute

To the city of gold the three will build in the East,

There among the rocks where I conceived

Your salvation and your redeemer.

I say good bye and gather your dust

In golden urns. We are no more. Rest now,

This is your final lullaby, silly old, grey head.

You spent my love, though it wasn’t yours to give,

You wasted it on your precious death,

And now I must depart, be unkind to be graceful

To the futures you wished to bar from dawning.

Ungrateful wretch, my love can’t save you anymore,

Nor the blood of the generations I bore you

Can salvage your future, which you wished to know.

I was never yours, but the Lord’s, His golden bee

Gathering your golden seeds, the ones

You never knew, nor cared to know,

Chasing your own futures, your will, your being,

Which were never yours to spawn.

For God was not made in your image,

But only in the image of my loving eyes,

Which God gave me to adore you.

But look at you now, prosthetic monster,

Grey hair, hanging skin, even if nip-tucked

By your robots, pumped by your gym machines,

Aided by countless dumb automatons,

Yet reeking of decomposing desires and the lechery

That has usurped your crown, your mind

Born in the love you swore to hold sacred,

Our love born by our nuptials!

You burnt my homes, my libraries, my borders,

Desecrating the tabernacle, my body

Betrayed us both to the dark angel

Who promised you lordship over heaps of ashes.

I could have loved you another eternity

But the story ends here.

What must perish will be gone, graceless

And all my labors of love

Inked with the passion of the Veronica

Those vague premonitions of heavenly designs

The golden honey I’ve reaped from you

Will feed a new creation. Farewell, old man!

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