Dystopia

there’s hunt for the honey, the keeper and the bee

i came across a traveling man
who looked lordly
trudging with two weary bags:
inside one were fragments of his city-
man, woman and children kissed by shrapnel,
the smell of burnt skin on the bark of a tree.
‘the natives bestowed this rebellion,’ he began.
the other had his heart with no room for mercy

there’s hunt for the honey, the keeper and the bee.

leonell echa