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by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Cultural · #2217271
Something penned in isolation, stay in touch with people and stay safe
Pandemonium [Lockdown Part I]

Stable doors and bolting horses,
from the wrong side of the fence
Through veins the blood still courses,
lacking reins, it makes no sense

Heartbeats pulse out, viral,
running wild, through the fields
A canter for survival,
a centre, locked down, sealed

A future postponed, cancelled,
a present, lost in space;
a past, 3 metres spanned, dwelled,
scrying for a trace

A trace of faces fallen,
red flags flown high on masts
A brace of places stolen,
with hope lost, fading fast

Ideas out my station,
such trains no longer cross
A life in isolation,
accentuates the loss

There's safety in the distance,
desire in the space;
a need locked down, for instance,
whilst wants will find their place

In a time when conversations,
never been more in demand
In a place of consternation,
destinations found, unplanned

Some things turnout, just not to be,
for hands or hearts, just minds;
with distance cast, too long to see,
a wasteland... of a kind

A desert locked, a cold dune sea,
once warmed by a missed sun
The light of day has set for me,
by lonely moons we run

A move to try to tame her... speak,
approached with too much care
A pointless echo chamber, bleak,
... a voice no longer there

Silence in a space so loud,
a vaccum of our own
Doubt it climbs, contagious, bowed,
in gaps, in crowds, we're shown

Guided round such ghost strewn towns,
the spirit ringing true
A heart, a soul, screwed up... locked down,
a virus passing through

'tween valleys bold, contagious, spawn,
hills arid, reach up high
'midst tumbleweeds, courageous, drawn,
round barren plains, so dry

A fever climbing up the gauge,
as wind chimes bark through trees
Words space cautious, cross the page,
a hacking, rasping breeze

A dying light falls, slanted, crossed,
on paths unplanned, unlit;
with things we took for granted, lost,
till isolation hit

Now ghosts of times past tempt me, moot
whilst wraiths still present, bray;
but when the clouds lie empty, mute
... there's nothing left to say

Nature yields what we need,
to wants, fate's winds succumb
All that's left, is where we bleed
... in pandemonium
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2217271-Pandemonium-Lockdown-Part-I