The Plague

The Plague

There's a disease abroad. Our fortitude
is being tested daily on the streets.
The air is filled with loathing like a germ
that replicates itself in hidden ways,
attacking all the things we thought were true,
invading spaces we once knew as safe.

A virus spreads among us as we bear
witness to the horror it provokes.
We're like the hosts floating on the seas
in hope of finding safer, kinder shores,
unsure of our direction but attacked
and beaten for the crime of being lost.
Perhaps one day we will find a cure
but know the only vaccine now is love.
Categorized as Poems

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

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