If I were stung by a bee,

Would the writhing pain of the wound shatter the existential angst and set me free?

The chastity of joy vowed to be in its eternal grace, As the moments of sheer abundant smiles forged to be distant memories to chase. Survival in its essence fostered the enrage of the glory of the mightiest to be, 

To be rejoiced or to breathe in remorse or not to be, 

The bane of existence mortified in fragmented glee

* * *

Appalled on the nights, the days with uncertainty befell.

The beauty of radiance and amor felt like unfathomable tales they would tell,

In confounding conundrums, the embellishment of strife fostered the deemed true,

Stumbling on my way, I dive deeper into the depths of my inventiveness and bled blue

* * *

I danced in the agony and laughed through the storm,

The prowess of my syllables marched across the norm.

Beholding the pen, mastering the nuances of my craft,

I affirmed the magic of creation was the elixir of the relishment of art.

* * *

Magnanimity belies in the eyes of the one whose sight it befalls to lie,

Embracing my authenticity, I painted my poetries over the hues of the sky.

Reflecting on the recency of the moment that joy confined in abundance in the crevices of me,

I looked and smiled at the scribbled inks of pen that drowned in the depths of poetry.

* * *

To be or not be is a question that still lies in the uncertain eye,

But if I may, 

I hope you live a life in the truths of where your fondest passions lie.

.    .    .