Honey

The rolling clocks stand still,

As I watch back to the first,

The very first moment.

That single sight,

That sweet smell.

Oh, the terrific touch of tongue,

Newly, smoothly, bright honey;

The day I met my nectar.

Spoonful smiles decorate thy heart,

Luring, moving flowers fill my eyes.

The greatest party, zero cries.

Another hand, another laugh,

A beloved chaotic dance.

Whose to say, whose to enter?

Everyone, everywhere.

Oh, how the changing clocks

Fill my sense to sense.

Lost fingers, clouded rooms,

A single touch, a familiar groan.

Yes...the taste for honey

Has grown.

Cheerful are we of this

Past-present paper?

Pace thy tune.

The buzzing has barely

Approached noon.

People have chatted,

Requesting pageant tales.

The fortunes are bold,

Liked stories seek gold.

And as we climb the endless

Rivers of playful birds,

We must ask,

Do we simply repeat rhythms?

Perhaps we can pause to listen,

And listen... to a -

- I guess not, at least not yet.

Another tremor night-sweat

From our rusted cool cabinet.

Praise be to addition,

The add ons and lesser-ins.

Alas, again, play the begin.

Searching.

Painted tools of lustful fools,

Lost attention graced with invention,

For what it means to watch and play.

Narrow eyes of woeful lies,

Happy faces from dreadful places,

Sheds shade for this common toll.

Constant minds on tender vines,

Busy bees in the broken breeze,

Lose footing on our noble truth.

Scrolling cradles with helpful ladles,

Silent nights go down in flight,

Painful tears of yesterday’s purpose.

How I wish to be,

Separated from this irony,

Of playing and demanding

A better route through,

Difficult to construe.

Even more, even funny,

How easy it is to forgot

The origins, with honey.

As jagged as life may seem,

As bad as people scream,

We must remember what it means

To be alive and to stare

Outside, deeply outside,

Out of our sight.

But, we must not torture

Nor torment the taste,

Despite our gorging.

Imagine please,

To wake up

In complete

And utter

bitterness.

After all,

Nectar makes rich

Of our days before we drift.

And so, we must pardon

Ourselves and learn.

Teach a common ground,

Inspire for what lies around.

Some say that new versions

Cause blindness.

Maybe,

The world was meant

To have,

And love,

Some honey.