Hivesong

Chimera Poetry

In the Cities of the Bees the Queen whispers unceasingly

 Welcome and well met my children

 and you feel her as the sun all gold and glowing

 and you sink into the heat softening, changing

your bones pliable with the songs flowing thick and heavy like cream

 like ancient cherry liqueur and you drink it in 

you submerge until the sweetness and the richness covers and fills your marrow

 your memories

and your eyes and ears overflow and your heart fills near to bursting with the spice and velvet

plum purple and berry scents 

the Hives are tall towers of ivory and coppergold and black and crystal

  slender spires reaching into the clouds

while below the warm and flowing rivers of wax wind silently beneath and through them  

heavy and fragrant as over ripened grapes powdery white 

the Hivesong lives in each whirring breath taken in

held and released 

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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