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Broken
BROKEN
The fever grips tightly
Reinforcing dominance
The heart is pounding
Hot blood coursing fast
Up into a heavy brain
Sweat on the forehead
A dryness in the throat
Vision, blurred at best
Feeling so very unwell
It’s some damned virus
Multiplying, multiplying
Antibodies defending
Fighting the good fight
Non-stop, hour by hour
Until reaching the top
And marking a victory
Senses slowly returning
The fever in full retreat
With another battle lost
And then – it is broken
Copyright ©
Howard Osborne
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