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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 © | Year Posted 2021




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