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Hive

These thoughts make a hive of the heart
Angry winged little things with fangs
They lay their eggs, hatch their young
Larvae hatch, crawl up your tongue
Escape cocoons transform to voice
The buzzing just a warning noise
Fly out your mouth, they've grown their wings
Winged angry fanged little things

We are gathered here together
Preacher dressed in his finest black
Every man's soul an open grave
Barren of the vision that it lacks
You rise up, full of rotting bones
From the coffin that you call a bed
The time you kill buried until
You're not alive enough to know you're dead

Maggots feast on a beating heart
Spawn of angry fanged things with wings
Thoughts tunnel a heart, delight in taste
Devour it, leave it all to waste
Vicious stingers out of control
From the hive deep down in the soul
From out the mouth fanged words sting
These angry little poison things with wings

We are gathered here together
Preacher dressed in his finest black
Each man's soul is an open grave
Barren of the vision that it lacks
You rise up full of rotting bones
From the coffin that you call a bed
The time you kill buried until
You're not alive enough to know you're dead

 © John Kennan 4-2-20

"As a man thinks in his heart, so he is."
-- Prov. 23:7
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Submitted by rankstranger7 on May 24, 2021

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    "Hive" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 31 Jul 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/100834/hive>.

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