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poetry

The Storm

1918 : Spanish Flu Epidemic

Could see it, sense it, years ago,
for some, belief in ancient texts
an overdue, ‘End of Days’
others, a violence of thought,
a fascination with numbers
, human nature understood
whichever way we knew,
we knew, though for some
perhaps a grey, a flickering light
sometimes as bright, and then unsure
as radiant as remembered? yet all
could now feel the changing winds,
the imminent storm, yearned
the innocent days, the child
oblivious, as darkness closing in
the selfishness of youth, the ability
to dance in the gloom, to laugh
care free,
as shadows shorten, waiting clouds,
overhead, patient, bide their time…

Strangers walking past, silent
with quickened gait,
friendships cooled with fear, death,
her loveliest face,
empty of life, a mask
to a past of opportunity, distance,
your only comfort until
you too, succumb

The mourning after the year before,
the world that now affronts,
her dying tend the rows
on rows, as twitching crows
watch symmetry of lines, each
individually wrapped in plastic shrouds,
inside agaze, staring at their maker?

Not a future, but a past
long forgotten, a history unlearned,
repeats, again and again the same mistakes,
this is not the last, but a picture
to be studied, understood, and changed

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