Empty hives, like empty lives are a sign of things to come,
Empty hives, no insects alive; the process has begun.
No more the swarm, the honey warm, the Queen and workers gone,
The human race out there in space; not here where they belong.
Empty hives, polluted pride, pollinator’s broke,
Empty lives, disgusting lies, extinguished at a stroke.
Empty hives, like empty lives don’t mean much at End Times,
Empty hives, forsaken sighs; we still don’t get the signs.
There may be colours in the spectrum, but all around red rust,
All that eyeless senses feel is the sunlight and the dust.
Empty hives, like sharpened knives are no use any more,
Empty lives and empty hives are cloaks that life once wore.
You cannot count the cost, when everything is lost,
You cannot count the cost of what we’ve done,
You cannot count the cost, of boundaries that we’ve crossed,
You cannot count the cost when on the run.
This is written with Rachael Charmley in mind for she causes me to stray from the path of ribald satire from time to time! She writes quite the finest stories and is worth visiting at;