“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label dirt floors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dirt floors. Show all posts
Friday, April 17, 2020
Short-sighted
En route
observe by taking in
filters
your immediate surroundings,
eyes touching face coverings,
nothing could effectively hide
what is done
inside
is being done by undoing,
by implementing more restrictions
moving
others to do the same.
We stay
inside,
like obedient house-pets
longing for fresh air
hanging our heads
out the window
we notice
how it smells
like something new.
Pacing ourselves
replaces racing toward the End where
no meetings will take place-
in person
there is less
to get, less we can do, less available, less security,
less was nevermore than just enough.
What goes around
in circles
gets smaller, our circles ellipse
until we end
up
with no points
of contact.
We leave the blanks
instead of filling our barrels with ammunition,
from six feet away
we look the same underneath
our personal protection,
mortal and our skin feels too thin.
We covered our bases
and dirt floors
until the rug unraveled
leaving the looming
predictions
dyed without a pattern.
Photograph credit: Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer, 1941 in Public domain.
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