The Hive

I am never in full possession, Of the hive behind my mind. Perhaps it's busy making honey-thoughts, That drip into vats of unconscious wine. Maybe there's a future-telling part, That's busy writing on a scroll. He tells fantastical stories, Of where I'll eventually go. There are other parts of course, One's I'd really rather not say. These parts are not so nice, But they too want to play. I am never quite sure, What to say to these scary folk, The ones that simply do not fit, And then I remember “them” are me, And so I tell them to sit. There are vast arrays of space and time, Just waiting to be explored, Alas, I cannot survive, In just the hive, And mustn't ignore outdoors. And so traveler I tell you, Whilst trekking in the hive, Watch with whom you trust and talk, And take a buddy when you dive, Some places appear shallow, But are deeper than they look, Always bring your trusty towel, And if there's a wait, a book. And so this is where we must part, And go our separate ways. I've told you all about my hive, Yours now awaits....