March of a Solitary Sentry
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So many of us are under a great deal of stress during this pandemic. Many of those to whom I minister are deathly afraid of venturing outside their homes, and when they do, throw everything they wear including their masks into the wash when they return home. I feel the same stress in my own life, especially so that new variants are emerging that are more contagious and more deadly. It is from the stress that so many feel at this time that this poem was composed.
The well, worn carpet
Underneath our windows
Of our sentry post,
Through which we peer
Into the unknown
For a spectral hand,
Invisible to the human eye,
Our hearts and spirits
As anxious and worn
As the carpet worn smooth
Underneath our feet.
The fear of that hand,
Knowing that its
bony touch goes
Undetected as it strokes
The face of its victims,
Robbing scent from
The nostrils,
Transforming bodies
into over-heated ovens
of those it condemns.
Our homes, a sanctuary,
A respite from the terror,
And, yet, our place
Of solitary confinement.
we peer out
through the bars
Of our windows
For the invisible enemy
As the days evolve
Into weeks and months,
Thwarting this invisible
Enemy, armed only
With a cloth face mask
And hand sanitizer,
We wait for reprieve.
Copyright © Robert Wagner | Year Posted 2021
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