The depressed bee buzzes in silence.
It works hard but never succeeds.
When a group of bees swarm together,
They depart away from the depressed bee.
The depressed bee can never seem to understand the world,
It does not need the depressed bee.
How many times the bee apologizes for being depressed,
Taking up the precious time of her vibrant, industrious friends,
Extending their impatience and boredom.
The bee dwells in its cave of solitude and buries deep,
Seeing and feeling everything and nothing of a thing,
Anticipating the redux of the same next day.
Peering at other bees’ gaieties,
This bee knew she did not really have a life so rich.
When being real is difficult to be for a bee,
Bee endeavors the surreal indeed.
Alone it encroaches into unfamiliar territory,
Loathing the diplomatic cat adored by neighborhood strangers,
Bee cannot compete.
By nightfall, the new sight of darkness sinks in,
The depressed bee forgets about the honey,
And attempts Beethoven’s Pathetique.
-Vander
Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.
