A wasp,
in all of nature's vastness,
is rather simplistic.
A short life.
Much like mine.
Days spent in and out of a nest,
working a job,
to fulfill someone else's wishes.
And when necessary,
this small little creature,
can protect an entire nest,
with a miniscule stigner.
that in comparison,
to the whole world around it.
Is nothing.
But that one stiger,
can wound
and even
kill.
Kill things as big as humans,
The rage a single wasp has, in defense.
The repeated stings have no end,
Until of course the wasp dies.
And like me, despite the feat,
Against the vast world.
With only a small stinger,
a pen.
I keep stinging.
Using what little power I was born with in the big wide scary world.
And I continue on.
Protecting the nest,
Protecting myself.
And using my rage to keep afloat
and like the wasp,
Despite my effort,
My stinging ends in my death,
And whenever I leave my fight it is,
My legacy.
A miniscule stinger,
A pen,
In the vastness of the world.
C. G.
YOU ARE READING
No one is there
Poetrypoetry book. all the things I've written that I could never say out loud. Some topics may be difficult for some people so check for disclaimers .
