Outbreak
We stand on ice that feels much too thin,
six feet suddenly feeling like miles.
Our footing is loose on this shaky ground,
and the cracks can be heard all around.
I see the fearmongering, the conspiracies,
the boredom and the sadness of separation,
the blame and the vitriolic remarks -
yet amidst it all, I also see sparks.
They reside in the eyes of the kind, the saints,
they light the fires in our heroes' hearts.
They shocked the minds that took this crazy race to space,
and they'll carry us out of this frightening place.
They kindle the muse in the artists,
keeping everyone as sane as can be.
They ignited that burning midnight oil
that fuels the healer's noble toil.
There they are, surrounding so many hands,
touching but for the pane of glass;
there again, glinting on that man's flag as stars,
shining for those in the passing cars.
On our media they jump from post to post,
from puzzles to videos, to jokes and "I spys",
from pictures to chatting, and all in between -
living in smiles passed through a screen.
Yawning before us is this chasmic abyss,
but we have what it takes not to fall.
Hope is in those sparks, our humanity, our drive -
let them burn, let them spread, and we will survive.
Copyright © Andy Sprouse | Year Posted 2020
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