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You.
Six thousand miles, far away from you. Everyday all I think of, is you. Beautiful, sweet and charming, that’s you. No one quite knows me, like I know you. Thunder turns to peace, because of you. Sunsets are a dream, because of you. I miss you so much, I love you.
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Sometimes, we sting.
Bees offer honey far more readily than they sting. The same applies to humans, we aid more than hurt. Sometimes we are intimidated; we sting. No matter how hurt one fellow bee may be, the production of honey never stops. No matter how hurt you may be, human-kind continues. -MH
Matt Harris Poetry 