Bee Hive

In the arid grasp of a withered plant, The hive appears forlorn, its dryness stark, Yet within lies the nectar all relish and want, Nourishing sustenance, a feast to embark. A facade of chaff and wax, so unassuming, A fragrant lure that entices the birds, They gather eagerly, their beaks consuming, Sputtering and squawking, their appetites spurred. Satiated and vibrant, they clumsily take flight, Leaving behind a fragrance that lingers in air, Other creatures in spiral attraction alight, Drawn to the honey, sticky and rare. The bees, encouraging, they dance and they sway, Surrounding the hive with a sense of calm, Fire and vermin repelled, kept at bay, As bees collect honey, sweet and warm. But hidden within this cycle of bliss, A web of relationships harbors deceit, Surprising is the hive's ultimate abyss, Its destruction revealed, a bitter defeat. Confusion befalls the bee, homeless and lost, Just like my love, once steady and pure, Shattered illusions, a heart tempest-tossed, Leaving emptiness, a love insecure.