bee and blossom

They say that Lans love once. And if it’s true
I spent my lifetime’s worth of love on you

Whose beauty like an orchid petal-fair—
Whose mind like swordplay—battle—no, like war—
Whose tongue like honey both in bed and court

Beguiled me to drink deeply of the cup
Till I was drunk on nectar, drunk on love,
And learned a honey-making of my own

Then it was worth it. I loved you enough
For both our lifetimes. Yours I ended, tricked,
And mine will end in meditation on

The bitter irony that you who fooled
Me, I was fooled to kill. I, twice the fool,
Will end my life in meditation on

A question without answer: did you mean
A word of love you ever said to me?
You used me in your quest for power, but did

You love me, just a little, on your way
Up to the top? Or was I just a means
To spread word of your goodness far and wide?

The honeybee drinks deep of nectar in
The blossom’s cup. The blossom knows its suit:
It loves, perhaps, its lover. Perhaps not.

I’ll end my life in meditation on
The bitter irony of having to
Believe—to live—a thing I can’t believe:

You loved me like the blossom loves the bee.
But you loved power more than you loved me.