They say the virus lives on
surfaces. It’s shallow.
To make up for the handicap,
it plunges into the depths
of the lungs, terrorizing cells,
skyjacking airways, tearing
through tissue and membrane,
galloping in the blood, filling
every pore, entering the bone.

It knows its way without eyes,
it speaks to its kind without
speech, it creeps, multiplies,
and without any restraint. It
does not hide its face because
it is faceless, and yet we have
given it the honour of a name,
we have made room for it,
and we are feeding it well.

It has become a shape-shifting
thief, a master of disguise,
catching us while we breathe,
toppling our governments,
spiriting away our economies,
and yet it does not know love,
or laughter, it has no memory
of past peace, even as it wages
its silent war within us.

2 thoughts on “VIRUS

  1. This one cut true. If a poem was the Covid, this is it. Scary. Well done.

    Feel free to look at mine if you like. I need more reviews. Thanks in advance.

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