The Reincarnation Of A Bee

Once, prompted by the fatal flaw
of believing I personally mattered
to the universe,
I indulged in a moment of
disaster planning.  “Save me,
save me!” I cried,
under the spell of the belief
that I mattered, that I matter beyond
what I had given and given up
to the Swarm — and then, swallowing hard,
I loosed my stinger and died,
a nameless worker bee
dying for the hive to survive,
because that was my job and my role
and what I was born to do.

I came back as a human,
a fat, sad, disheveled male
with a house full of boxes
of my writing and music.
Last story written, last 
song played.  No one
apparently listening anymore — 
I’m sitting at my desk crying.

How many lifetimes will it take
to learn such a simple lesson?