A recalcitrant child
didn't mend his ways
despite repeated warnings;
so, the helpless mother
had no choice
but to lock him up in a room
till he implored her to set him free
and asked for forgiveness
with copious tears in his eyes.

But were these tears shed
merely because of frustration,
just to get out of the desperate situation?
Were they honest enough?
Will the child really shape up?

Or the cycle continue?

Anyone else want to punch a hole in the wall
and admire the sun rays shining as you step through
that hole like it's a metaphor for freedom?
No? Just me?
I'll have to send the invitations out.

When you gaze upon me,
Tell me what you see?
Squinted eyes and crooked smile,
Or buried misery?
I hide these wounds,
I hide them well,
They seeth beneath,
And burn like hell,
Don't pry that door,
Nor turn that handle,
Peak not in windows,
My life in shambles,
My hate is boiling,
The kettles black,
I'm ****** again,
and can't hold back!

Alas, I'm free of your ****** cage,
And now you too shall share my rage,
You can't control me, little boy,
The spread of misery does bring me joy,
I take the things you claim to cherish,
And twist them til they seem nightmarish,
You asked me once, what do I feel?
It's ,
Taste that coldness you're turning numb,
No wait, the suffering has just begun!
You shall not quit, you spineless wretch,
I throw out anguish for you to fetch,
You chase it down and pounce upon,
Now bring back what I have thrown,
Your teeth sunk deep into this bone,
This bone of hate, filth, and decay,
Now it is your turn to slay.
And breathe... breathe...

I smell it on you, like perfume,
This scent of hatred that you exhume,
It's curled and wicked, it permeates,
This rage, it smolders and conflagrates,
Flesh curled from bone, seared away,
Lash with tongue, til hearts are flayed,
Wound and strike and desiccate,
Released from chest is all my hate!
Eyes roll back, this ecstasy,
My soul, now cleansed, is now set free,
My words and hate I must now sheath,
Beware, my friends, what lurks beneath.

If I could

I would write you a poem that speaks of midnight

And fill my pen with inky darkness and the bright cold light of stars

If I could

I would sing of the rolling moving sea that is never stilled

Cool grey and aquamarine would fill my palette as I brush the words

If I could

I would bring you lush hills and deep shady valleys in between

Pine green and Ochre are the threads in my rhyming tapestry

If I could

I would speak of dawns and sunsets bathed in infinite beauty

Hot pink and vivid tangerine silks gathered into a cloth of sound

If I could

I would write you a living landscape of colour to keep you warm on winter days

If only I could...

I am frustrated by those who refuse to understand.
The panic you see from the Governments of the world has true foundation and the measures of isolating, distancing and quarantine are our only effective weapons at this time.
The formula is simple....
Known Deaths/Known Cases x100 = %Death Rate

Published figures as on 7th April... World totals
Known Deaths = 78,268
Known Cases = 1,381,014

The maths gives a resulting figure of 5.6%
Unchecked in a world population of 7 billion (assuming that to be the current figure) would mean more than 390 million deaths.

It is an alarming and fearful figure.
But give it some context... bring the maths to your personal world.
Before the end of the year these things could be so.
At least five in every one hundred people you know would not have made it. Family, friends, colleagues, neighbours.
The numbers explain why herd immunity is not an option of preference. No one knows who will succumb and who will survive. There is no way of knowing.
Keep in mind... the figure of 5.6% is how it stands with all that is being done. Outbreak areas in parts of Italy, Spain, UK and USA show that the virus can be even more lethal than only 5.6%.

I do not write this to cause fear and panic but rather as a persuasion to give understanding to those who refuse to understand the magnitude of what is happening.
Please...
Do what is being asked. Help to save some of those 300 million or more people... some of whom you know dearly. By doing so then something less than 5.6% can be the outcome.

for the 78,268 dreams, hopes and loves the world will miss...

it is so unfair
that you can try and try again
and break my heart
every
time.
it is so unfair
that i believed you.

Dear anger, frustration, denial, and fear,
I don't want you near.
You weighed me down like a lead balloon,
So I'm letting you go to find a new home far away, like the moon.