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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