The Stinging Bees

All the anger in the world
Cannot destroy that which you created,
That which you love,
That which you cherish.
All the anger in the world
Is but a misplaced desire
For your wisdom, for your truth,
For your love.

That which I have seen
Has made me less my own
And more yours to deliver as you choose.
Such have I grown,
Aware of this presence,
Beneficent to my fellows
Because of this presence,
Always true,
Always in love with its own inevitable reclamation
Of the truth that lay scattered
Like pieces of broken glass
Over this wondrous place
We call home.

The nectar in our bodies
Needs the presence of the stinging bees
To spread itself from lonely soul
To lonely soul.
Welcome the sting.
Breathe into the light.
Become that which you must become
In order to arise
Newer than what you were
When you first entered this world.