A POEM TO BE READ BY BEES AND SPIDERS

To live like a bee, to live like a spider

while keeping the ocean of human emotion

(ignore that it would weigh a ton).

Though clearer you see with an overview wider

(and seeing that way can be fun),

to be them just might give the proper perspective

on how life unfurled in your own little world,

little one.

Your will was to build up your own perfect house on the hill.

You sought out to spin

web perfectly thin.

But now that it's over you are the proud owner of it,

and there's nothing left but to stop and to rest for a bit.

You sit and you think

of strings and of links.

You may be surprised that you're sitting there perfectly still.

Inside of your head is a very big space

where you get to build an intangible place.

The web of your thoughts can't be seen by your race

little spider.

Your home is a part of the whole for as long as you've known.

You're always around,

not lost and not found.

How can you compare and contrast what you share with the group?

You ponder yourself: "Do I have my own wealth off the loop?"

You never can find

the ways to define,

and looking around it is clear that you'll never be shown.

When faced with a mirror you surely can't see

the thoughts and the feelings of "you" and of "me,"

and nothing of A's B's or C's or of D's

little bee.

When cozy and perched you may notice when weather is rosey.

With no more commitments

you look to the distants

and loaded with feelings you spy on them tediously.

You wish to devour but can't find the power to flee.

The question you fear:

"Who comes over here?"

Outside of your safety net you have no guts to be nosey.

With no one to tell you the hill can be climbed

the steps are then taken toward feeling resigned.

The rhythm of them will go straight to your mind

little spider.

When winging around it is not just yourself you are bringing.

Here everything's done

together as one.

You go through the motions for everyone knows the same dance.

Perhaps you're aware, too, that everyone wears the same pants.

and you may bring fear

when your swarm draws near.

You surely would jump off the cliff when it comes down to stinging.

Wherever you go you're attatched by a tether

from laughing and crying and flying together.

Your differences surely erode with the weather

little bee.

You wouldn't be told that you don't keep your place looking good.

It's your only goal

that you can control.

For what you possess you could give a fine lesson on order.

You sure look prepared for who falls unaware in your border.

But no one will know

that way that you sew;

a graceful technique but when teaching you're misunderstood.

Your web keeping dance is a lovely affair,

but methods of spinning it you'll never share,

for no one out there knows the beat of your snare

little spider.

The task just to organize such a large number is vast.

Oh some must be lost,

and some must be tossed,

and every new day has a stunning display of routine;

a maze for not beating your heads just to keep the place clean.

Though hard you may strive

you're stuck with your hive.

With work to be done there's no time left to change up the caste.

It's great to have talents that someone can use.

Results can be grandest when ideas can fuse,

but are you aware if you're part of a ruse

little bee?

To live like a bee, to live like a spider.

Sure they have less choice, no instructional voice,

but built well to properly run.

Both cases it seems that you'll be an insider

as part of the buzz or home spun.

But you'll find some options in mental adoptions

for how life unfurls in your own little world

little one.