The wasp is weak in the area of the stinging type
To little the pain he deals, to much the hype
The wasp withers and dies, fades away
Its wound lasts no more than a waning day.

The sting of the truth is much more feared
It is oft that truth is both terrifying and revered
One knows it yet to hear it gives a lethal pain
That falls on any fortitude lke acid rain.

The sting of loss is morbid yet all to swift
One once loved torn and let fall adrift
From the departure of friends to an old tune
Loss is striking in memory and shadows afternoon.

Love is most painful the sting of all
It is an affliction in action, in voice and manner
Burning one's fantasy, and if unreturned scarring
The simplicity in which midnight may close is barring.

Death, to the waiting, stings numb and deep
The pain too far, the venom to well seeped
The most decrepit death of all one may die
Is to lose everyone else yet still remain alive.