Bees on Aster in Autumn

This life has fallen below me.
Collapsed under the weight of hope.

I am tired.

My instinct to sleep.

I have given my all to dream, to wonder,
and to the stillness of life’s contemplation.
And yet, I have only this pen, this paper, and these words
no one seems interested in slowing down to read.

I’ve poured my heart out in love.
And yet, I fail to give enough.
All I wish is for others
to see what I see
in this moment of love:
The bumble bees,
The honey bees,
The green metallic bees
on the aster flowers of
early autumn.

To pause and
stare into their being,
their purpose,
their lives lived
under our noses.

I’m certain
they get tired but,
they carry on,

A bee on a flower provokes
the most deeply
felt observations of
love—simple and
understood—I know
this moment;
I feel their purpose.

But I must ask:
Shall I give life for others to notice?

What does it take to
feel beyond the illusionary
life of noise
we have created?
To be in awe of
that which blooms and
gives life just as
the rest of
the world
all around
begins to
fall into

Oh, I’m tired.

I’m tired of emptiness,
of ugliness,
of the mess
we’ve made
of life.

I’m tired of willful
of false pride,
of the lies
bought and sold for
profit, milked
from the
the blood and
sweat of

I’m tired of witnessing
the fall
of human decency,
of common sense,
and of caring;
The simple act of caring of others should be natural.

I’m tired of
the imbalance
between life
and death;
and laughter
and sorrow;
between the proverbial
them and us;
between all of us.

I want balance.
I want to care.
I want to give.

And I want to be;
I want to go
from flower
to flower
and carry on
with purpose.

I want to
be noticed in
love as
I notice in love.

For someone to see what I see…

To rise
the rest of
the world

To be a simple reminder of what is simple and understood.

I know this moment.

I’m tired.
And yet, I will carry on.

Like bees, on aster, in autumn.

CL, September 18, 2017