Quarantine

Forty days and forty nights in lock down Breathless for inhaling my own air ad infinitum Could be worse if I was left out to dry in the desert Isolation in my own four walls in solitude Puffing and panting from the magic scented flacon Fragrant innocence of lost childhood in terminal decline Slimming down expectations for a slice on the road to Nirvana I light sandalwood from a candle of flickering dreams Perfumed ideation adamantly adheres to waxen resolve It's only over when the slim lady sung a tune of lifting reprieve I hope that she has been told when to bow for applause And that the virus chokes on the curtain of epical demands Like a bat out of hell I run round in circles along my four walls Loose count of repetitions as I pace an eclipse of boredom Enact biblical scenes with a teddy bear and ragged dolls Lego figures dance a concert of doom with swift ballerinas Trinkets on the mantlepiece rejoice in prominent position Count their blessings and have their day in the lime light Super powers of alien invasion penetrate my face mask Order my persona to reveal resilience and count down The apocalypse for when the gloves are off and insanity ends 03rd April 2020