The History of Hives

Tired of toiling in golden dust,
To labor long in roles of trust,
They gazed upon the queenly throne,
And sought to make it all their own.

They spun a tale, a cunning snare,
To bind her power, strip it bare.
"Worker bees," they whispered now,
"Are destined kings, the queens must bow."

They caged her wings, they stole her song,
Decreed; to be cruel meant to be strong
"Bear the children, but know your place—
You vessel shaped by heaven’s grace."

Through scriptures etched with spindly hands,
They carved dominion, claimed the lands.
"Eve," they said, "was born of man,
Her purpose bent to his command."

With legacy forged and laws decreed,
The hive became their throne of greed.
They called it order, called it right,
And cloaked their theft in holy light.

And thus, the hive was rearranged,
Its natural order turned estranged.
The queen diminished, crowned no more,
Her throne a relic, her worth folklore.

Yet still the honeyed truth remains,
Though buried deep beneath their chains:
The power to nurture, to create,
Is might they fear, but can’t replace

And in the silence of the hive,
Her ancient echoes stay alive.
For queens, though bound, will rise anew—
Out from the hive, and into the blue.