(mid 16th century: from Latin, ‘wreath, crown’)

This world will descend with us all wearing crowns,
our fear made of chain mail, ensuring we drown –
this royal, rich cluster-fuck the claws of a hound
pandemically torn; endemically bound.

One planet, one people, an abstracted art –
our hope stripped in layers while the illest depart.
Socialised distance the end where we start:
with sanitised hands we are bonded apart.

And yet, it is loneliness more than disease
that will whisper goodbye as we land on our knees,
extinction unmasking the death it will seize
as we slip well away with perpetual ease.

But we cannot forget how to smile in defiance;
we must find a cure and resume an alliance.
Our infinite strength is historically timeless:
let us fearlessly roar in the face of this virus!

© Tamara Natividad | | Written 21 March 2020

Pisceanesque would love to hear from you!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s