Sunday, March 29, 2020

Corona Poetry?

So, apparently, when trying to nail down the ending for my latest book (a new series that is geared more toward adults), I like to amuse myself by writing poetry.  Who knew?  Good or really bad, at least it gives me something to share.  It's also better than my forcing the ending.  It is going to be a large series and I'm adamant that I will give each book a proper ending and not just a set up to the next novel.

The Viral Siege

The pregnant pause, gravely unspoken
as we now live in the perilous space between.
Our foe swarms wearing Hades Helm
and we wait to bear arms until foe is seen.

Yet bear we must under siege.
We struggle by lonely survival suffered,
wanting in ways comical
to those whose compared need it seems absurd.

Middle aged, we hoard in our collective panic,
lashing out at beloved players,
whose wealth we gladly gave for our amusement,
but now deride, the new scape goat Ayers. 

Heedless, leaderless, guided by a barking clown,
our young, once heroes of our future,
act as petri dish revelers.
Dancing throngs waltzing the aged to butcher.

The learned ones, with exponential models,
with their experiments, and evidence, and epidemics,
with their distancing, and isolating,
with graphs of curved pandemics.

Why hear their call for sanity?
When all is a hoax and we shop for our brand
of fact, of figure, of talking personality,
to tell us truth we shout from our own social newsstand.

Somewhere, between logic and love,
between Gautama and Theodore,
are all the provisions to endure the siege, 
and claim victory of this viral war. 

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