And to crown it all we're all going to die!
Or not. Despair is the flare from the barrel
Next to the six-foot deep hole holding my stare:
I can't climb out of CNN reporting in quarrel
After quarrel that the air is filled with ire
Not fire. They crawl up hands, to faces
And dig into alveoli where life lies waiting
To exhale through foetid mucus, a James Whale scare
As the doctors bounce of beds defibrillating
In vain or with success, but all in phases.
No I chose hope. New phrases like social
And distance breathe oxygen into more men
Than the global promise of living without care!
Oxymoron is the new hope for this ill omen!
Greet-distance, Meet-noone, Work-home, travel-local.
Hands-clean, touch-no face, calm-panic.
But how not to panic in the face of a pandemic?
The old, and vulnerable are main victim to evil's fair,
But all carry the burden even in transparent tunic
Taking some under for failing their civic duty.
Stay safe. We can beat this. Wash hands, follow the hygiene and other instructions. By minimising the spread, we make more healthcare available to the more vulnerable. Don't panic, God's got us, and we got this.