It isn’t right,
But it is what we’re left with:
The Reaper’s working overtime,
While mothers can’t get the hours to afford,
Through risk and financial burdens assumed,
Their children’s meals,
Any dreams of happiness.
This stupid, invisible demon,
Free from will,
Shifts so smoothly between,
Children and parents,
Poisoning passing moments,
Corrupting the innocence of the ignorant,
Weaponizing an existence already on loan;
It wasn’t enough for existence to not be free,
Now people have to be (reminded that they are),
For every single breath,
Including the venom some stranger spewed,
Through willfull oblivion,
That found it’s way into Her lungs,
Stealing away so many decades worth of breaths,
In a million stupid, invisible assaults,
Against a shore She had already defended,
Against better enemies,
For what might have been centuries,
One crack was enough.
Enough to take Her away from a place,
She had only begun to call Home.
For a long, long time.
None of this has been right,
And I don’t know how much I have left.