Oh little love, little love!
Where have you gone?
I looked high and low
Little love where did you go?

Oh little love, little love
Your hair so bright
Red like an apple
Yet dark as night.

Oh little love, little love
Where have you gone?
I looked high and low
Little love where did you go?

Oh little love, little love
Answer me you ****.
Just come out
I promise I won't even hit.

Oh there you are
Little love, little love
Don't be scared
You're alright
Just close your eyes
Dream of a star-filled night.

Little love its time to let go
Feel the air escaping your lungs
It hurts I know but you'll be okay.
Your off to a better place
I hope to see you there.

Little love, your body has gone cold
The cops are on the way
To make us whole again
I hope I don't stay
A ghost in the walls bored all-day

Here they are little love
With a raise of my hand
And a defining screech  
I hope they send me to
where the devil creeps.

Goodbye, little love, we had a good time
maybe in the next life
or the one after that
well, be together again without you dying.

Covid-19,
this all seems like some dystopian dream.
The PM’s on TV,
saying he’s shutting down the country.

It’s like watching Sci-Fi,
protective equipment is in short supply,
we need to keep our distance,
there’s even been resistance to this.

People flocked to Cheltenham,
over 250,000 of ‘em.
The crowd was big at the Stereophonics gig,
Have a Nice Day,
critics say they should have stayed away.

No gatherings in parks,
panic sparks mass buying,
people are crying because they can’t get their medication.

Stay home,
some people are alone which limits the spread to other people,
but it’s probably not good for their mental health,
despite their wealth,
celebrities are just like you and me.

“Imagine all the people,”
okay, maybe not,
easier to isolate in a 200-acre estate,
behind a giant steel gate.

Two-weeks in quarantine,
nervous wait between infection and symptoms,
not enough testing machines to screen for this unseen virus,
most pull through which inspires us.
others don’t,
they were real people who fell ill,
not a number on a spreadsheet.

There was some negativity,
but people have the capacity to come together,
free taxi rides for NHS staff,
putting in the graft,
but they didn’t sign up for the draft.
They’re health professionals working to the bone,
staying away from home adds to the stress.

People reassess what it means to be important,
Key-workers,
not high earners but they still went to work to serve us,
when all this is done,
Remember that in years to come.

If the majority of your office work is done via computer,
you don’t have to be a commuter.
Work from home, no need to travel into town,
Zoom remotely in your dressing gown,
Microsoft Teams,
sending each other memes via Slack,
keeping it all on track,
maybe this could be permanent once life goes back?

Taking an online course,
attacking a new hobby with great force,
exercise, art supplies,
devise fun games with chalk on concrete,
liven up the street.

Rainbow pictures,
reading your scriptures,
video chat with your Nan in her flat,
shopping for your neighbour,
donating to food banks,
giving thanks.

This will pass,
the new normal will be different,
but we’ll be content because we won’t take things for granted,
hopefully.
Emotionally it’s been rough,
turn that frown around once it’s safe to leave Lockdown.

Is it over, is it really now over,
Are we just dreaming or simply misled,
Can we resume the rest of our lives
Outside these four walls and the shade of our bed.

Can we now fill our lungs with fresh air
Breathing no longer through layers of cloth,
Or must we endure that little while longer
Protected indoors, cocooned like a moth.

Exhausted from watching show after show,
Tidying closets, climbing the walls,
Snacking in boredom, growing in girth,
Constantly texting, washing our smalls.

Hair growing longer, nails more like claws,
Roots ever greyer, solutions too few,
Pampered and spoiled, lost in a haze
Reliant on others, but whoever knew.

So tell us it's over, we pray and beseech,
Bring back the life we knew and adore,
Life's little pleasures all gone in a flash,
Staying cooped up is now such a chore.

Welcome to the month that you hear everyone stories, then the people who usually just make fun of them say how much they care.
People like me suffer every day, but usually, no one cares.
Please don’t tell me to pick to be happy.
I didn’t choose to be sad.
I chose to live, which the hardest of them all.
Maybe dying would be more comfortable, but I won’t give up to be another static.
I’m not a number that will be seen in the news, and people who hated me will make a post about how much they loved me.
My pain isn't a way for others to make money.
Happy national  awareness time.
I hear you
I’m with you
Don’t fly yet.
There is still come.
I love you all.

Our world decided to reopen.
A deadly pandemic polarizing its people.
A dollar bill weighed against a heartbeat.
You’d be surprised what we value.

But what about me?
The inner alarm on a continuous loop.
Shouting in shame.
My plague has no cure.

“Isolation” and “shelter in place” are household terms
for those under the weight of depression.
We are jealous of the cardinal that sweeps past our window,
the elderly man who waves from the street.

Freedom.
To rise each day with an appreciation for life.
To be touched by another.
To fall in love with yourself and someone else.

But today, I cannot.
Today, my eyes stare out the window.
A celebration of “opening back up.”
One day, I wish to join them.

It seems like a free fall, really.
Like when you are 12.
On a roller coaster, topping the first drop.
Veroomph!
Your face contorts itself into disfigured smirks and smiles.
You don’t control the expressions. They just happen.

And, so it is in death.
It’s a free fall.
A letting go of all restraints.
The tension and tears rip away like a massive band aid.
To say you aren’t scared would be a lie.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The graduation of height opens the landscape.
You suddenly see the world from above.
Everything. Everyone is a microscopic version of themselves.

And then it pauses. The ride.
Your life.
Waits. “One Mississippi…two Mississippi…”
It’s not an open invitation to get off, mind you.
You’ve purchased the ticket. A price has been paid.

So, with a slight hesitation, you calm yourself.
You settle into the seat.
Stare at the birds.
Lift your hands to heaven.
Silence. Silence.
The world makes a picture for you.
But, you are no longer in the frame.

A silent shriek,
morning hues of red and orange glitter through the pines.
Shadows form across the bedroom floor.

His vocal chords strain to be heard
above the laughter of the lilies.
Thrusting to and fro in a synchronized stance
they’d been practicing since the first of May.

An ominous cloud crosses over the heat source,
calling into question the events of the day.
Rays or rain?
A quarter, spinning and twisting in slow motion,
heads or tails?
The stakes are high.

Mr. Anthony, my neighbor of two decades,
rounds the corner of Dibbens Street.
Completing his morning trek pass the Weeping Willows,
he pauses to look in my window.
Pauses.
Does he see? Can he possibly know?

Heads or tails?
And for today, the decision is made for me.
I decide to stand.
To repeat it all over again, tomorrow.

An inch.
No more, but an inch, nonetheless.
A puff of air breezes upon his face.
Taking him by surprise.
Not expecting anything, anymore.
His eyes widen in layered expectancy.
This was not supposed to happen.
It messes up the plan.
But one inch changes everything, now.
Sure, it is invisible to others.
It is broken now.
Not worthy of use.
It must be replaced.
Something is now missing.
So, without further thought,
we cast it aside.
It has no life of its on.
And, that probably is a good thing.
To realize you are broken,
that you are lacking in use to others,
well, that load is rather heavy to bear.
You see, we are looking for that inch.
The inch provides hope.
Hope that we can still breathe.
Taking in a puff of life to examine ourselves.
Staring within.
Invisible.
Because through the broken lens,
the fragments form our faith.
We need that inch.
To live another day.