Mimicry
The guilt,
What of it?
Does the bee feel regret?
Guarding the walls of his honeycombe palace,
He punctures his prey with a thousand stings,
A protector of the nectar he devotedly brings.
Does the spider feel remorse?
Spinning golden thread to deceive the winged,
She waits between the singing trees,
A razor rope for the foreign fleas.
Does the hawk feel shame?
Plucking beetles from the eyes of wood knots,
Separating the violaceous insides out,
A symposium of vessel’s drought.
And does the snake feel pity?
When he slithers across the dusty night,
Feeding the pale moon a poisonous bite,
A cobra dressed as a python.
Before he kills,
Does man feel anything at all?
Or like the bee, spider, snake and hawk,
Will he succumb to survival of the insect lore?
For the guilt,
What of it?
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