Like Ill-Mannered Belligerent Bees Poem by Mark Heathcote

We militarize our boredom,
And ironize our tears
This has been done from infancy,
Till we've forgotten-
For just, how many years.

A father or a mother worked
Toiled their fingers to the bone
Just so they could provide you,
Some sort of a stable home.

We cry out all our needs
Like ill-mannered belligerent bees
Descending on any honey,
Put aside—leftover money,
Warmongering if, there isn't any.

"It's the way of the world
We find we're all expendable
At times utterly inexcusable;
That even love, love is unattainable".