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does anyone else
k n o w they lose
entire poems?

a whole world imagined,
words stream suddenly
come together
perfectly

s o m e h o w reading
your own mind story
almost as if
an observer.

a glimpse of understanding,
an ( ((awareness)) )

and it is only
together but for
the moment of
creation


immediately the structure frays
the words come a p a r t
| scramble back up |
and it is
gone.

i have imagined
and lost
entire lifetimes.

births and deaths.

ways to be
and ways to
unravel.

noticed and appreciated
and listened and described
and understood
in b r i e f
moments
of clarity.

alas,
there is nothing to be done,
except wait attentively
and with excitement
for the next loss.
wrote my nightmares
In fresh falling snow
Hoping they would disappear
Drip by drip
Like icicles from the tree
Crackling goodbye
Our lives have changed
Like never before I can't hug
Or kiss my beautiful mother like before
Sadness in her eyes as my sick
Elderly father cry's watching the tears
Roll down my
Auntie's eye's Mrs Carroll
She's 100 crying every day
Hoping to keep the virus at bay
I'm so confused I love my family
But I can't help them anymore
I find a lonely tear roll down my face
Our life's have changed so quickly
So fast I'm praying every day
No more happiness no
More fun no more hugging
Coronavirus is here as we watch our
Happiness and joy disappear
Every Day we practice social distance
Like never before I worry of
What will happen to you and me
Today and Tomorrow
Nobody seems to understand
This horrible disease
Coronavirus here
Coronavirus there
Coronavirus is here to stay
The second wave is already here
So scared like never before
Thinking about the elderly every day
When Lord will this horrible virus
Ever go away, I'm crying
As I hold a dying childs hands
I whisper.. I Love You my best friend
I'll never stop loving you
But I promise I'll love and pray
For everyone suffering from
Coronavirus every day..
R.I.P
Everyone who's been hurt by the Coronavirus
when singing failed

I screamed

and the bars of

my cage finally

shattered

into a million pieces

of freedom
it's canned meat
and depending on how one slices

the hammy blob
they might say it's tasty

while to others
it's irrelevant

quite like poetry where  i've learned
there are no lines

only smudges
someone wants you to believe

are flowers


Whit Howland © 2020
An abstract word painting. An original.
 Jul 2020 Corrinne Shadow
jǫrð
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