RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: CORONAVIRUS SERIES
Still
The air is still
Like a silence of the soul
No gentle summer breeze
To soothe our restless spirits
To comfort us with ease
The waves of heat bear down
To take away our breaths
We count the days by numbers
By days we count the deaths
The earth itself is sickened
By the state of our affairs
It’s so hard to feed the spirit
When you can’t bring yourself to care
The wind has howled long and hard
The rain has hammered home
The sun beats down in cries of fate
The very heavens exasperate
We may as well spell the wind
As wait for better days
The air grows still
Take comfort where you will
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