Bumble Bees

Bumble Bees

A Poem by Guera

My love is a myth carved from funny murky waters. Waters that go drip drip drop and sizzle sizzle pop in the golden rain. If it were a person, it’d be a woman. A blond woman with a giggle of a scream in her eyes, and a bleeding tongue that would stretch to her freckled nose. She’d sing songs at inopportune times, and cry at parties. Every morning, for breakfast, she’d eat helium with a side of gasoline. At the bar she’d take shots of coffee, and all the other men would stare. They stare not out of admiration, however, but rather out of distasteful curiosity. If my love were a woman, she’d be blue with lavender polkadots. 

Life is so much more than a lover though. It is, in fact, a conglomeration of error. Beautiful, beastly, and downright botanic! Perhaps there are too many clouds to stare at in the sky. Yet some folks still claim there aren’t enough clouds to see! Not enough clouds for them, anyway… I hate the clouds. Clouds are stupid. Clouds are goofy. Clouds are like crumpled tissues from roman gods. Nevertheless, some people actually want them! They want a cloud or two or ten of their very own! What they don’t understand is that clouds float, and never in one place forever. Clouds come and go, live and die, just like you and I. 

It is in understanding this that I’ve decided not to take my love too seriously. Just as I do, he comes and goes. He lives and breathes. He’ll die and sleep. In the end, like everyone else, he’ll be with me. 

Sometimes I think our lives are like lamps. Nothing more to that. Life is just a lamp. Wouldn’t it be quite the ball if life could be something more whimsical? What if life were to be a tiger, a pinwheel, or a crystal dagger? Indeed! What an exquisite existence we would lead! 

If life were anything like my love, though, I’d be scared. So would everyone else, unless they simply liked the idea of eternal dreamless sleep. The world would be suffering from global warming and rumors of a rising ice age all at the same time. Man would bite man, and the dog would laugh. Mothers would cry while babies fed them and tried to rock them to sleep. The sky would be blue, violet, and neon green; because my lover prefers a lively red. All would run in fear of the uncertainty that is yet to be forgiven nor deplored. 

But me? 

Why, I’d merely find my seat amongst the madness and watch. I’d watch while understanding that I mustn’t take the whole scene too seriously. Doing such would ensure my imminent demise, at best. So I smile. I smile sit back, and watch the scene. Because if my love was a person, she’d be a woman. And if that woman was life, then life would be me. 

© 2017 Guera

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Added on April 22, 2017
Last Updated on April 22, 2017
Tags: eight, love, birds



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