Poetry is closest to the truth.

[SanPan]

The Queen Bee

She is the Queen Bee.
Unlike of that in nature,
she lives on top of other bees.
But she used to live in the center.

God had meant her to be in the center.
Surrounded on all sides,
by concentric circle of lesser bees.
But now God has left.

Now she lives on top.
Vast infinitely possible sky,
lies above her head and within her grasp.
But she cannot help but look down.

She despises the lesser bees.
"They are nothing but lowly insects,
dirty, hungry, smelly and ugly."
But she cannot say it out loud.

She wants to be on top.
Sometimes, quietly, she kicks below,
and feels alive and happy.
But she cannot show her happiness openly.

She works hard to be on top.
Using all her strength and intellect,
to confuse, to divide and to conquer.
But she knows ground below is shaking.

Oh! how she dreams of simpler days
where every bee and child
would kneel before her and nod.
But those days are gone.
She weeps silently.

[jkaram]

Hi SanPan,

Thanks for the enjoyable read. I think the use of your neat stanzas, and their tying in with each other, creates a sense of unity and form. I found your poem successful in this respect. I also enjoyed the contemporary feel. It was difficult for me to get past Queen Bee ininially, perhaps because it's overused or maybe it's my personal disinterest of subject+verb+object of a first line of poetry that emphasizes this sense of wanting something more original there. My only other nitpick is your choice for the last line of each stanza to begin with " but". The fact that you've capitalized each but draws the reader to these abuts, and I don't imagine that that's what uou've intended. Small nitpicks, and maybe justme. I enjoyed your writing and look forward to more.

J

The Queen Bee

She is the Queen Bee.
Unlike of that in nature,
she lives on top of other bees.
But she used to live in the center.

God had meant her to be in the center.
Surrounded on all sides,
by concentric circle of lesser bees.
But now God has left.

Now she lives on top.
Vast infinitely possible sky,
lies above her head and within her grasp.
But she cannot help but look down.

She despises the lesser bees.
"They are nothing but lowly insects,
dirty, hungry, smelly and ugly."
But she cannot say it out loud.

She wants to be on top.
Sometimes, quietly, she kicks below,
and feels alive and happy.
But she cannot show her happiness openly.

She works hard to be on top.
Using all her strength and intellect,
to confuse, to divide and to conquer.
But she knows ground below is shaking.

Oh! how she dreams of simpler days
where every bee and child
would kneel before her and nod.
But those days are gone.
She weeps silently.