Who is this me?
Who I am I do not know.
My thoughts are teeming bees, and so
When time allows the chance,
I intervene, and try to slow
The frenzied motion of their dance.
For just as someplace in the hive
A queen sits – calm – but quite alive,
I too am there, though far below
The depths I’ve been content to dive.
Who is this me, a friend or foe?
This me who causes joy and woe,
This me within who run the show,
This me within. Who runs the show?
Another of my "introspective" poems, and as with many of the "deep" poems I've tried to write, they just don't work as well. Poetry works best when it's describing things or situations in new ways, not when it's used as an attempt to explore moods.
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