I got exposed to Covid-19 so my whole family had to go into quarantine. I wrote a poem to 'celebrate' that exposure.
I feel ridiculous, standing here
with a Q-tip swabbing up my nose.
I feel demoralized, standing here
with a surgical mask over my face.
I feel isolated, sitting here
not allowed to leave my house.
I feel horror, that we can be so manipulated
and imprisoned within our fear.
I feel regret, for the loss
of our innocence, taken by the government.
I've been doing some emotional exploring, often to my detriment.
Appetites within and without
I observe myself in the mirror of my soul
In those merciless eyes I perceive myself
a whithering bulk of morbidity, of gluttony
pasty white flesh tumbles and drapes
like window dressings of wanton appetite
with an obvious insufficiency of self-control.
This condition meant little to me, previously,
preoccupations greater than corporeal status
have directed my thoughts and emotions.
Exploration of anger, fear and, pain paramount,
needs within needs proliferate and flourish.
Expanding my consciousness, maturity and acceptance
reveal underlying essential demand for mending.
Abuse and loss flavor my past, challenges
continue to abound in the infirmity of my soul.
I see the requisite direction but also recognize
the external manifestation of my inner turmoil.
The passage of time allows me to observe
these indications of change within and without.
Battles waged, all suffer but surcease is at hand.
I feel little indignation in my physical self,
I recognize the need to placate feelings by cravings.
Now is the time, to put aside these disturbing
emotions and focus on concrete reality.
Once upon a desert night
a man and girl did travel
pain upon the pale moist face
her countenance did make clear
a manger was the birthplace
but no one said a grumble
In that simple place; a King was born
It was God's own beloved Son
I've been reading "Read & Review" for a couple of hours today. There was an interesting mix of short stories and poetry randomly generated for me. I've been entering "Express it in EIGHT" poetry. Here is one:
Every night I seek to sleep
I often try by counting sheep
warm milk I drink to no avail
I read books but still, I fail
hots drinks are good, I love my tea
but into sleep, I want to flee
pasty skin, I look like a hag
in the morning, I'll use a bag
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