Poems for the Pandemic

Ever since I was a child, whenever anything truly significant or troubling happened in my life, I turned to my pen, and my words.Those words were usually in the form of poetry. So today I give you two of those poems. One is positive, one is not. I feel both points of view are valid. The Apocalyptic FlowerThey said the sightless slayer was coming,But we weren't prepared for battle.So we skittered like cockroachesUnder the lightTo our sequestered places.Empty streets ring of nothingBut the occasional shush of windTossing crumbled receipts down the sidewalkTumbled reflections of life before Corona.We listen for the countLike in Defoe's timeWaiting for the metaphoric dead wagonWho was old, who was young,Who was foreign or domestic in origin.We point the finger at Cheeto manOr the neighbor that emigratedFrom Wuhan.It's their fault, we sayWe try to take back our powerBut with an omniscient opponentAnd ambiguous weaponsWho can win a war?Hate and ugly words won't kill it,Even the guns we love so muchWon't kill itIt galls us greatly,Oh, great, superior humanity,With all its knowledge,Bested by a thing so tiny,That microscopic, apocalyptic flowerBigger than us all.Whew! Need some relief? Here ya go:BreatheIn this time of heartbreak,In this season of anguish,BreatheInhale the scents of spring,Past and present,Take in the rebirth of budding treesAnd birds returningPartake in flowersLaboring through frozen groundAlive againAmid the echoesof looming deathWhen it seems hopeless,In the midst of blacknessIn blinded visionLife beckonsBreathe inYour lover's sighsAnd your children's laughter.Draw inThe musicThat bursts at your windowLife is calling youEven when deathIs all you can hear.Never fearThe seasons are rhythmsThey wan and waxAnd this oneis no exception.