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Three; Simplistic Number of Love

Bees, Women, Nature and Demise

By The Lonely PossumPublished 6 years ago 2 min read
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Only nature can be home for love we hold

Came in three, a lovely number, the simplistic number of love.

Alencia, Arsaiya, Maarea and the mother of Love; Arlyinia Sarai.

She loved the world, her daughter's came in a trinity so she could share with the corners of all, though she was delt with much blasphemy.

Her innocence was a treasure like that of honey that a hive does bear, and bees are burdened throughout. The Queen lay to rest when she met the drought that would take from her the gold she wore, shriveled in despair. Hives of nine and she lost her innocence to a thief of lies.

To bring her back, took years of lack, thousands of days filled with loss.

She fell in love with music, it continued to connect her with her tribe. Brought her soul into the sweetness to meet the light that never left her heart, met a lover whose eyes did sparkle in unison with hers.

The first love had a kiss of chocolate on his skin, there Arsaiya was born from purity like the bang of a new time, though she'd been here before. Welcome little bee, to your hive.

Like first loves can do, her wings broke in flight but like a Queen she is, she had strength; she had might.

Another love buzzed the instrument that sent her hearts song into sweet delight. Little blue birds twitter and chirp at the newfound presence of two bumbles: Arlencia and Maarea.

Little bees, we are.

Humble, bumble with the breeze coursing through intrinsic twigs amongst the life stretched from the soil to meet our wings.

And oh! The leaves, how they change color along with the temp of the breeze. A lovlier side to view, another of our mothers emotions, seasons come and we buzz on.

We'll meet again in spring. Ill love you soon my humble bee, wing to wind amongst the sprouts of the new season. We'll share the glaze and tender sweetness after the long slumber away from the cold draft of negatives when we lose our way. I'll find you again, loved you through and held onto your memory while I did sleep. Remember you, I did. Please, for the love of your dear bumble, hold dear to your memory the hum a vibration of my buzz. Tis the way we'll find one another again where the willows sway and dainty flowers flail in the gentle grace of Earths breath. Love me through, ill always, always love you.

She bled for her bees, the Love of a Queen.

Arsaiya lit her heart for the world's blackness so they could see.

Maarea carried zest within her hold for hopes of liveliness within the hive.

Alencia gave of her gentle warmth, but all grew to a tepid feel for the Earth as if their bless-ed pollen could give no birth to life anymore.

Hives fell. The touch of homes were long gone always buzzing never getting through, on and on.

Come along, back home, the Queen buzzed.

No mum.

These hives are not homes, they are houses devoid of delicate balance between the two; the sun and moon, a place where they must grace one another with lovely delight and live passionately in love amongst clouds and the clouds with the sea, liquid of the soil and seeds of the breeze. These houses are not homes when there's no honey love to hold.

We could give no more. No more from our tampered souls with minds tired like whirring machine's never merging with the promises of tomorrow's goal.

nature poetry
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About the Creator

The Lonely Possum

Aren't we just floaters finding balance in a big world without its own strings attached? No harm or foul, go on smile, it's the best short glimpse of love you can gift these days aside from whiskey and a veggie sandwich.

With ranch, always.

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