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Love Letter From the Soul Lxii

M, "If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around, does it still make a sound?" the sound akin a honey bee guarding her hive alive with tiny wings not letting not forgetting anyone shan't slip on by the dance floors tapped mouths taped trapped together as shuffles brush the polish illuminating off the dwellings of her naked floor resound praise a knock upon the door echoes chambers on knee begetting soul deepened in pools of green a serenade the world hath never seen inside growing rings wrapped upon a tree beginnings blooming branch reaching branch two entrance eye to eye we climb, we climb worlds escape eclipsing to be free passed in between intrigue allure, amoré attracting moments evermore a tongue, a key a Bee ever free

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Maurice Yvonne

Date: 1/21/2021 11:21:00 PM

Brilliant. A Fav.

Lady Labyrinth

Date: 1/17/2021 1:41:00 PM

"....a tail, a sting...? Bees are not all sweet but fierce; wouldst thou contemplate a tree that falls, dost bleed; the sound of all the forest creatures, clawing to be heard around its falling leaves - the sweetest diabolical cacophony drinking dewdrops from its pure ne'er bitter nectar. They, drunk on all their stories, each retold on fragile barks, in their comforting uncomfortable minds drunk now in solitary silence, look for love - or some meaningful recompense that has been withheld. It is a certainty they look for Love, through vagrant means, some dally in their conscience revenge, or lust...releasing new little freedoms from the prisons of their hearts and minds, 'tis there, their abject souls are let loose to redefine - but most assuredly they look for Love. Like fallen trees the creatures will be heard. Sadness and Joy, both come with Love."

Lady Labyrinth

Date: 1/17/2021 1:08:00 PM

I fear thy lord, thou hast been at the mead that bees suck on ...again. "That will ask some tears in the true performing of it: if I do it, let the audience look to their eyes; I will move storms, I will condole in some measure. To the rest: yet my chief humour is for a tyrant: I could play Ercles rarely, or a part to tear a cat in, to make all split.

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 1/17/2021 1:09:00 PM

The raging rocks And shivering shocks Shall break the locks Of prison gates; And Phibbus' car Shall shine from far And make and mar The foolish Fates. This was lofty! Now name the rest of the players. This is Ercles' vein, a tyrant's vein; a lover is more condoling."

Lady Labyrinth
Date: 1/17/2021 1:09:00 PM

"I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the ladies out of their wits, they would have no more discretion but to hang us: but I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale." visions from Bottom and a dream ....regards, Kate.

Darlene De Beaulieu

Date: 1/17/2021 12:05:00 PM

Hello TS Poetry, well done. Enjoy your day my friend.