Tuesday, March 31, 2020

March 31st 2020

Anxiety is a painful rot
in the hollow of my skull
looking for signs for a pandemic
that's spreading smoothly
as butter on bread.
Fear is a smokescreen
dulled by the brightness of TV
that fill the gaps in the room.
He should have been here
did he forget to call?

In a pilgrimage that travelled
faster than light, losses are counted
Faith was the biggest price
followed by sleep that is a violent moon chase, almost every night.
In a room reeking of disinfectants
protection is an assurance, of not having caught by the fever.
Circled dates are a holy ritual
prayer a promise
one day battles would be won
when future would be a tomorrow
feeding on the seeds of resurrection
that will wake up the dead bones
a leap of faith won't cost
many lives. It'll find it's way.
Through the lying, cheating flock
of bastardised men. 

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